


Camp Beaverbrook

by UnholyHelbig



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Angst, Camping, F/F, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2019-08-08 10:39:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 32,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16427771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnholyHelbig/pseuds/UnholyHelbig
Summary: In the year 1989 four girls are sent to Camp Beaverbrook as counselors for a summer of fun. Things start to take a dark turn when odd things start to happen around the camp. Follow Beca, Aubrey, Chloe, and Emily as they navigate a summer camp seemingly out to get them.(Aka, the classic 80's horror movie that takes place in a summer camp.)





	1. Chapter 1

_Dear Dad,_

_I’ve already been bitten by ten mosquitos. Trust me, I have counted. The first one sunk its greedy little teeth into me before I even got into the car. Right at the base of my collarbone. It makes it look like I was sucking face with someone on the bus ride here- course, neither of you let me take the bus. Wilken’s smokes too much, but that’s fine. It was nice that he kept the windows down the whole way. The mountains are cooler, especially at night. I’m glad you made me pack that sweatshirt or else I’d freeze to death out here._

_Your daughter,_

_Beca._

She let the breath move past her lips. Beca had been holding onto it for way too long, it was starting to cloud her throat and make her lungs burn just like they had the second that man lit his first cigar. She expected a cigarette, the cab seeping with the scent of tobacco. Instead, it was the imported stuff. He looked like one of those cartoon characters with the angry faces. Beca wanted nothing more than to switch out his last cigar with a stick of dynamite, praying he wouldn’t notice.

The chair that she was in creaked under her weight. It was old, and she knew that. If she applied too much pressure to the back of the chair it would break through in a dusty mess. Instead, she folded up the paper, shoving it awkwardly into the branded envelope that the camp had given her the second she signed in. Apparently, it was a requirement to actually _write_ home. She was sure her father wouldn’t mind.

Camp Beaverbrook was the last place Beca Mitchell wanted to be.

She didn’t’ have much a choice, however, brandishing the comically yellow t-shirt with the cartoon picture of a green beaver happily munching away at a log. On the back of her shirt in big block letters was the word _Staff._ She had also been given a whistle that tasted like rust and a large book of rules for what to expect as a watersports instructor. Just because she had written that she was a junior lifeguard at the community pool three years running.

Beca wished she was there now; the sun would be almost blinding, but it heated up raw skin until it was an angry red. She would be with friends, popping open sugary drinks and ice cream that would melt past fisted hands the second it was paid for.

But now, she was swatting at blood-sucking bugs, wiping it’s mushed up contents on the bulk of her jeans. She hadn’t unpacked yet and didn’t feel the need to. The small boarding quarters for the counselors held two to three people per bunk. She was at the end of a long row of housing, and apparently one of her roommates wouldn’t be returning this year due to a lice outbreak. (Which Beca thought was better left at home.)

The door creaked open behind her, loud and unruly. It seemed to brandish a layer of dust that she nearly choked on. The door was nothing more than a wooden frame with a mesh screen door that carried waves like an ocean during high tide. On the other side of this door stood her bunkmate.

She looked clumsy, that was something Beca could tell almost instantly. She didn’t get a good look at her face; a duffle bag was weighing her down as she carried a photo box that rattled like no one’s business. The frazzled girl dropped almost everything by the entrance, letting out a grumble of a noise before rolling her shoulders back in stifled pain.

“Um, hi.” Beca managed, trying to keep her voice quiet enough not to startle the stranger. It didn’t work. She gasped anyway, snapping an icy gaze Beca’s way. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She looked older than Beca and looked better in yellow than she did. She was wearing long sleeves that were rolled up to her arms and jean shorts that contradicted her need to cover up. Long curls flowed over wide shoulders. A smile brandishing her face. She sounded out of breath.

“No worries. You must be the new counselor.”

“Beca, yeah.” She said.

“Chloe,” She pressed her fingers into her lower back, letting out a breath as she tried to work the kinks out that had formed on the track up here. “Mind if I take the top bunk?”

Beca simply nodded, running her finger over the pencil in her hand. She didn’t’ want that bed, she tossed too much in her sleep. It was easier to take the single bed, and the parasite-ridden girl would have taken the bottom bunk. “You’ve spent summers here before, then?”

“Oh totes,” Chloe lifted her first bag onto the mattress. Beca tried not to wince at the word. “This is my third year.”

Beca had a lot of questions, mainly along the lines of _why would you subject yourself to something like this willingly?_ But this came out instead; “Why isn’t there an ‘e’ at the end of the camp’s name?”

It wasn’t as pressing, but it was something that Beca wanted to know. A giggle pushed past Chloe’s lips as she stared down at the bigger bag, then at the dresser across the room. She seemed resigned to leave it for another time. She crossed her arms over her chest and blew a strand of perfect hair from her eyes. “You must be starving, right? It was a long trip up the mountain.”

“Oh, now you’ve won me over, Chloe.”

Beca stood and lead the way to the door, it creaked loudly as she pulled it open and let Chloe go first. Halfway because she didn’t really trust her weight on the set of stairs, but also out of what little kindness she had left in her heart.

The two of them walked, and Beca had to admit, there was quite a chill to the air, despite being early summer. The campers were set to arrive later that day, leaving them with mostly silence as other people struggled to move their items into the half-assed living quarters. They were the furthest away from the mess hall, a long uphill path cut through edges of wood until they made it to a large grassy clearing.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Chloe started, holding back a branch before it hit Beca square in the abdomen. “But you don’t look very much like a camping girl.”

“None taken, I feel like I would be more offended if you offered me a beaded friendship bracelet.”

“Please, Beca. Bracelets are for the advanced.” She snorted, “We start off with making coasters. Really, it’s just a slab of clay.”

Beca wanted to laugh, but she didn’t’. She let an easy grin play at her lips. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Chloe nodded with exaggeration. She shoved her hands into the oversized pockets on her shorts. The grass was soft under their feet. There was a large log building up ahead that Beca hoped was the mess hall, her stomach close to digesting itself in a fit of instinct driven hunger. There were two smaller buildings on either side and a flagpole that housed fabric mimicking the symbol on her shirt perfectly flying high.

“Of course. You can’t have a camp without a craft director, can you? Though, it’s a lot easier to stick googly eyes on a rock than knitting a scarf in the middle of summer.”

“You’ve done both of those things, haven’t you?”

“I plead the fifth.”

Beca took that as a bad sign. An even worse one was the lanyard that hung around her neck. It was clearly a construct of young campers trying to make something constructive out of glitter glue and uncooked macaroni. She considered it better to share her cabin with the human incarnation of a school bulletin board than an alternative. Besides, Chloe seemed nice.

“You still never answered my question.”

“I don’t think you ever asked one.”

She held the door open to the mess hall, once again letting Chloe test out the exact weight that wouldn’t send them through the creaky deck. The scent of an unidentifiable meat clouded her lungs. Hell, it was better than cigar smoke, and it was enough to send her stomach into a swirling mess. Beca was hungry, and at this point, it didn’t matter what got shoveled into her mouth. As long as it was edible.

There were long picnic benches, most likely a few regular sized ones lined up to create four rows of tables that stretched from one side of the mess hall to the other. There were festive little welcome sheets in a golden yellow, and plates of store-bought cookies where the tables would break. They smelled like oatmeal raisin but looked like Chocolate chip. A long window was on the right side of the space, creating a pale-yellow light against the rest of the room, she could hear pots and pans.

“Right. Well, why is someone like you in a camp like this?”

Beca reached forward, snatching one of the cookies from the paper plate closet to them. Her stomach instantly eased the second she was able to chew real food. “I plead the fifth.”      


	2. Chapter 2

_Dear Mom,_

_Things look great this year at the camp. I almost didn’t’ recognize it when I got off the bus, but it is the same place. Gail did a lot of improvements though, including repainting the sign and actually changing out the flag. It looks yellow now, and that’s good. I get my own cabin this year, so I don’t have to worry about not getting much sleep. I don’t know if Gail did that for her sake or mine._

_Aubrey M. Posen._

Aubrey hated heavy sunscreen. Its scent was thick with chemicals and the white-streaked against her skin in uneven lines even though she had rubbed it close to raw. Still, it was better than the alternative of bubbling skin, angry and painful until she dipped into the lake that her cabin faced.

She had woken up and gotten dressed this morning before the sun was even up, but she still heard movement in the kitchen. Her mother had worked the night shift and would be asleep before she finished showering. That was always the case, and Aubrey didn’t mind- yet, her heart seemed to ache when she climbed onto the bus and slipped a pair of headphones over her ears. She kept the Walkman steady in her grasp as Rush echoed against her chest. That way the CD didn’t skip.

Aubrey was alone here, or at least, that’s how she felt. The metal clipboard in her hand made sure of that.

Her fingers stuck to the paper from the sunscreen and smudged the words. Bunk assignments and a long list were scribbled in between blue lines. The letter she mentally reminded herself to mail when she walked towards the mess hall.

Instead, her sneakers crunched against the gravel that wracked the sides of the lake; long and stretching. The afternoon air rippled against the reflective surface as water danced dangerously close to the canoe’s flipped against their sides. They were old and needed to be replaced but she bit her tongue until she tasted metal.

Camp Beaverbrook had changed with each summer. When she was twelve, it was a wonderland away from her family. She had brought home the crumpled-up pamphlet that they handed out at school and somehow convinced her parents to let her leave for the summer. _It’ll be good for the girl._ Her father had said _Maybe she’ll learn the importance of consequences._  

She hadn’t. Instead camp was a place to have sex with Andrew Watts behind cabin number nine when she turned sixteen. She had gotten poison ivy places where it shouldn’t have been that summer and came home to her father sleeping on the couch.

“This is an important job, Aubrey. I need bullet focus.”

She bit back a scoff as they walked. Bullet focus was the only thing that Aubrey Posen possessed. That’s why she went home with a blue ribbon for the science fair four years in a row. Why she had been considered for a full ride for Harvard in the Fall, and an RA position at Stanford’s summer program. She had turned it down for the chance at a last summer at Camp Beaverbrook.

Gail didn’t have the energy to run a camp like she used to. Still looking quite young, she was tired. Her slumped shoulders and ill-intentioned words were the clear-cutting points for Aubrey, the two of them keeping a brisk pace as they rounded the corner of the lake. It smelled rancid.

“My role here will be vastly shrinking, understand?”

“Of course,” Aubrey said. And she meant it.

“Not that I don’t enjoy spending time with the campers in the summer. Trust me, I do. I just have a lot more to handle. The legal faucets of keeping this place up and running. That’s why I’m entrusting you.”

Her words made Aubrey’s stomach bubble in unbridled anxiety. The whole camp under her instruction? Gail Abernathy had made it clear that she would come down from her big house a mile west if things got bad if any type of problem occurred. But Aubrey made a silent deal with herself that nothing _would_ go awry.

Aubrey brought her hand back up to the side of her throat, her fingers stung, a tiny insect squishing against her pale skin. Its bloody guts mixed with a sheen of sunscreen. She rubbed the raw spot until little balls of dirt appeared. She remembered how much she hated the mosquitos. Little vampires that never got their fill.

“The campers arrive later today, and all of your counselors are here.”

“Mine?”

“Yours.”

They had stopped at the edge of the property; a long edge of pine trees filled every aspect of her senses. It made her itchy, or maybe that was the new pink welts that formed against her skin. Gail didn’t seem to mind, instead, she grasped the clipboard. “This,” She flicked the corner of it, creating a hollow noise “Is your lifeline. Consult this before you consult me. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

She got a pat on the back. Her father used to resort to those all the time. It was a fine line between actual affection and a condescending way to get her not to screw up. She got one after her first dance recital, when he left the house for the last time after the divorce, and when she graduated a month ago.

Gail added in an extra squeeze of the shoulder for comfort, though it didn’t’ help much.

Aubrey watched as the older woman walked away. She looked dark compared to the golden shirts that hugged everyone’s sides like a warm blanket. Aubrey scratched at her neck, cursing herself for not pulling on a bracelet or spraying on citronella. She listened as the waves lapped at the shore and stared down at the clipboard.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.” It was a low growl as she turned in the gravel, struggling to get herself up the side of the hill leading to the lake. She had to get to the mess hall, not only was she late, but she was also in charge of a bunch of teenagers- which meant most of the welcome cookies would be scarfed down by now.

A rough pain worked its way through her shoulder as she collided with another. A warm body that smelled like citrus and was soft to the touch. She had grasped at elbows blindly and stabilized the two of them, making sure her clipboard was still pinned under her arm. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

The counselor under her touch was wearing a smile despite almost being bulldozed by an angered blonde. Mousy brown hair fell into perfect slate eyes, ones that could have been green if the day was clearer. She wore a camp tank-top, that obnoxious beaver chomping on wood against the front.

“No worries,” her voice was smooth. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I-“She breathed out evenly, pulling herself away as she ran her fingers through blonde hair. “Sorry, I was rushing.”

“Mess hall, right? I’m headed there too, I may have overslept. My roommate didn’t’ wake me up and… and I’m rambling, aren’t I? I’m Stacie.”

“Aubrey,” She smiled.

She had seen that name on the registry. A camp counselor who had an expertise in archery, two championships, and a summer to teach a bunch of snot-nosed kids what she knew about the sport. Stacie Conrad looked like she was built enough to go to the Olympics.

But instead, she was at Camp Beaverbrook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, more exposition! expect two more chapters of that. Because I just love introductions.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hi Mom!_

_They have us writing letters home now. You remember how last year was optional? (Even though I still wrote you every day). This time we have this special stationery with a whole bunch of little beavers on it. I think it’s cute, but Hayley thinks it’s lame. I don’t blame her, she goes to camp to get away from home. It’s my last year as a camper, so expect some action-packed letters. Say hello to grams for me. Let her know that I love her._

_Emily_

Her mother had always told her to never read on the bus, or in a car, for that matter. It was meant to make the words blur with each bump even if she rested her knees on the back of the seat in front of her to try and steady everything. She could get back to her murder mystery that way. The truly unlikable character in Oliva Foxworth had consumed her enough to where she didn’t’ watch the rolling pine trees.

It was more than the gruesome story that left a queasiness to her stomach. Maybe she _should_ have listened to her mother when she told her not to read while in a moving vehicle. But she had no other way to preoccupy herself during the long ride. Hayley had fallen asleep within seconds, practically boarding the bus in her pajama’s. She had no interest in catching up, not when they had the whole summer ahead of them.

“How far are you?”

“Huh?”

 Emily glanced up, her eyes searching around the bus for the source of the voice. She found it in a slight girl with blonde hair and the greenest eyes that she had ever seen. Her smile was kind and she had a book on her own lap, waving it slightly, lilting as she eared the page. She was across the aisle, her own seatmate staring out the window at the passing scenery. Another McDonalds and a hotel with tribal symbols chipping away.

“Oh, they just snuck into the estate.” She reached forward, sticking the letter that she would have to re-pen on this supposed stationary later, into the crease of the novel. Saving it for later. “You’ve read it?”

She hummed, nodding as she turned herself into the seat, her lanky legs relaxing in the aisle like everyone else on the bus. Emily had to admit, it made her own stance itch. But she stayed put. “Yeah, I saw the movie first though. My mom took me to the cinema and it wasn’t too bad. But the book was better.”

“The books are always better,” Emily smiled, setting the novel onto the empty space between her and Hayley. The girl groaned as the bus hit a bump. She was half-asleep, pulling into herself as she adjusted her position close to the window. “This your first time at camp?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“No, no not at all.” Emily said, “I’ve just never seen you around before.”  

“Yeah, well. My parents figured I’d need to get out for some air and life experience for once. I convinced them to send me to camp instead of my aunt’s place in Washington.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“She has cats,” The stranger deadpanned, shaking her head slightly. “Twelve of them.”

Emily couldn’t help the small giggle that moved past her lips-sure, one or two pets were cute but when it came to that many it made her stomach churn even more. She remembered having a great grandma that only had three and that was a nightmare. She used to babysit Emily when she was younger, and it often resorted to picking cat hair out of desserts that contained way too much Jell-O.

“Anyway, I’m Jane.” She gave her a toothy grin as she produced a handshake.

“Emily, it’s nice to meet you.”

The two of them chatted for the last thirty minutes of the bus ride, almost long enough for Emily to forget about the uneasy feeling in her stomach. It dulled each time she swallowed and was nearly forgotten by the time the big yellowed bus pulled into the rounded lot in front of the camp. It kicked up dirt so strong they could almost taste the grit in the air.

Hayley had finally stirred enough to pull her bags down from the baskets overhead (with the help Emily, of course) as she blinked crudely at the sun the second, they stepped off the bus. Jane looked astonished, eyes scanning every inch of the large camp.

“Don’t’ worry,” Emily gave her a small nudge with her shoulder “It’s not as intimidating as it looks.”

There was a clatter behind them, some kid falling off the bus into a cloud of gravel. A few people rushed to pull him to his feet and straighten his glasses. Jane glanced back for a second, breathing in before glancing back at the largest building. “Well, that looks promising.”

“Come on,” Emily bit back a laugh as the three of them walked towards the mess hall. She knew it well, could practically smell the welcome cookies as the sugar wafted through the door.

They were the second bus of kids to arrive, each of them took a seat next to one another, Hayley shoving a cookie into her mouth before they even settled themselves. There was a buzz of activity and the acute scent of sunscreen mixed with whatever they were cooking up for dinner. It didn’t exactly ease the tension in her abdomen. She felt Jane’s nerves more, squeezing her shoulder slightly with a kind smile.

The noise, however, completely cut out the second the door opened. Or maybe it was just dampened in her own mind. She watched; a lanky counselor holding a clipboard, the woman looked official- her skin was sun-kissed and her eyes were kind. Her simple presence was enough to thaw the rest of Emily's anxieties. An undeniable smile pulling at her lips. Hayley let out a low whistle.

“Woof, Emily.” She nudged her side, “Looks like your hottie from cabin number nine got a promotion.”

“Shut up and drop it.” She growled, body betraying her as an undeniable blush crept up her neck and burned at her ears.  

“ _Puh-lease_ Emily your one-sided pining is the only interesting thing that happens at this camp. I am not going to spend a whole summer sitting here watching you drool over a woman with a whistle and a God complex.” Hayley took another bite of her cooking, crumbs spilling down her shirt.        

Jane let out a soft scoff and shook her head as she focused back on the woman who now took her spot at the front of the room. All she had to do was blow the whistle around her neck, gaining more attention (if that was even possible) from Emily and the rest of the campers. Most conversation eventually tampered.

“Wow, Em I wonder if that’s the only thing her tongue can do,” Hayley whispered. 

Emily shot her elbow back, jamming it into the woman’s ribs as she choked on whatever was left of the cookie in her mouth. Hayley squawked, Aubrey’s eyes flashing towards the two of them with little wonder, a ghost of a smile on her lips as she geared up to give the beginning of the year speech.  

Emily could swear she saw a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, yeah, I know I suck at keeping a schedule that I set for myself. But there is still a chapter this week! I'm a busy human but love this story too much to abandon it. So please let me know what you guys think, your comments honestly mean the world to me!


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey Dad,_

_It seems kind of early to write like this, doesn’t it? But there isn’t too much to do yet. Everyone is just settling in. I’m in the same cabin as last year, but Lizzy isn’t here (She got lice or something?) but there is another girl. Beca. I don’t’ really know what her deal is, but I want to learn more about her. She looks like a tough nut to crack, you know the type. You work with people all day. But I think it’s worth it. She seems nice past all those rough layers. I just know it._

_Love you Lots,_

_Chloe._

There was a cruel imbalance between the heat that the fire produced and the cold of a mountain night. It seemed to suck all the moisture from the air, flames licking against a black sky as it cruelly shaded the features of the counselors and campers alike. It didn’t’ cure the frozen fingers and running noses. Chloe having pulled the blanket that Beca offered over her shoulders as well.

It was an act of pure kindness that she didn’t’ take lightly, the two of them had their backs pushed against one of the logs, the bark digging into their spines. A flannel throw draped over the two of them. Beca smelled less like sunscreen and more like the fire that burned in front of them.  She had let out a grunt as Chloe leaned into her side.

“Has anyone ever told you that you lack boundaries?”

“Every day, Beca.”

Chloe remembered her first campfire, the way the head counselor spun tales in a low and gurgling voice. She couldn’t’ remember his face or even his name, but she knew his purpose. To terrify and excite the new campers with stories untold. She had never heard something like this, but now it was a melodic tune to her ears.

When she was younger Chloe checked out a book about ghost stories with her friend Danny Spritzes library card, so her mother wouldn’t know. She would read it by the glow of a flashlight and work herself up under the covers until she would have to sleep on her parents’ floor. Her dad would trip over her and let out a string of curse words before he lifted her up and let her spend the rest of the morning on his side of the bed while he got ready for work. It was always clouded in that warmth.

Her mother eventually found the book and called Danny’s. Neither of them was allowed to go to the library for a long while- though, it wasn’t too upsetting in the moment. Chloe had books to read at home, and Danny didn’t’ care either way. But she spent a month being tucked in as tight as possible in attempts to keep her in one place. She would always end up back on that floor wrapped in a blanket.

Chloe’s eyes scanned the circle. There were counselors from other cabins that would linger as embers refused to burn out. They would light a few smokes and share in laughs until one of them fell asleep in a warm haze of alcohol and tobacco. She stopped doing that after her second year, too tired, and too unnerved by the cold.

“Alright everyone, listen up” Aubrey stood, she would usually tap the amber bottle in her hand with something to catch the attention of everyone, but the circle was small, and her voice carried strong. Chloe could have sworn she saw Beca roll her eyes as she shifted against the blanket. “I have a few things I want to say.”

There were a couple of hoots from the other counselors, just urging the woman on. Chloe was halfway through her second beer, she felt fuzzy, but in the best way possible. If she hadn’t bitten her tongue, she would be the best wing woman for the speech that was sure to be delivered.

“I’m not going to give some long-winded shitty speech, alright?” _Or maybe not._ “What I am going to say, is, I want no more than three accident reports this summer yeah? So, keep your campers under control please.”

There was a rumble of giggles from most of the people around her. Chloe cast her gaze over to Beca, the girl did have a ghost of pain flash across her eyes. Maybe it was the deep light of the fire that shaded her features in a way unimaginable as it ate away at the logs.

“I guess with that out of the way,” She mumbled, dragging her bottle up to her lips as she took a frothy gulp, clearly enjoying the coolness that the alcohol provided. “You _all_ know what time it is. Who thinks they can give it justice?”

“What?” Beca whispered soft enough for only Chloe to hear. It elicited a giggle from the girl as she squeezed Beca 's knee softly, under the blanket.

“Shh, you’ll see.”

The brunette seemed to visually shiver at the close contact of breath against skin. Chloe felt a bloom of satisfaction deep in her abdomen. It was… interesting, to see Beca squirm like that. In the twelve hours that she had known her, it was very apparent that she was rough around the edges, breed to be, at that. But Chloe knew she could break through it if she tried hard enough.

The logs seemed to shift under the torrid heat as ash still burning rose against the black sky. The counselors seemed to settle as Aubrey brought the palm of her hand closer to the earth. Beca looked like she thought this place was home to a cult. The camp nurse, Jessica, hugged her cabin mate closer on the edge of the log that they rested upon. Cynthia Rose toyed unnervingly at the frayed edge of her own blanket.

The archery instructor, Stacie, cast a sullen glance at Aubrey. A longing one that made Chloe ponder. They would be cute together, she certainly had the build and the concentration. Or at least, Chloe hoped she did if she would be handling arrows. Maybe she would see about that later (in a nonabrasive way, of course.) 

“Uh, I can start.” A male voice countered the silence. Jesse Swanson, resident movie geek, and even better cook. His first couple of years at camp resulted in a cheesy movie thrown together with static-filled music and memories that had only happened a month before. But he had found himself loving the kitchen. He sure could tell a story though, and with the slight nod of Aubrey, he continued.

“You guys know all those legends about teenagers who find themselves trapped by a murderer with a hook for a hand?” It was a rhetorical question, his chocolate eyes trained on his full bottle of beer, not at all touched. “Two lovers park a car along the side of the road after a long date, when they hear the radio crackle. It’s a special announcement.”

“you have got to be kidding me?” Beca whispered under her breath, earning a sharp elbow to the side. Chloe was completely engrossed, even though she had heard this same story year after year. Sometimes the couple would change, and the years would differ, but it was always the same story. “Ow! Fine. Watch it, Beale.”            

“A murderer has escaped from the asylum at the top of the mountain. He’s extremely dangerous, out to get revenge on the bully that tormented him at camp when he was younger. Drowning him. Trying to strangle him, and worst of all, nearly blowing him to bits in the middle of the lake shed.”

Chloe leaned forward, almost out of necessity for some type of warmth that the dying fire provided. Everyone was too engrossed to stroke it, it would eventually go out, leaving them in the cold and desolate part of the forest that looked nothing but harmless during the day.

“The girl wanted to go home, but the boy? Oh, the boy had spent most of his summers up at Camp Beaverbrook. He knew the land more than anyone else and thought he would be yielded a hero if he headed back to the grounds. After all, they were just around the corner.”

Aubrey nodded and took another swallow of her beer before she continued the story herself, her voice hushed and gravelly. “He drove them into camp. It was empty this time of year. The mattresses were flipped, and the canoes were locked up in the very shed that had been rebuilt just fifty years earlier. Everything about the place was quiet. He left his headlights on, and the girl in the car, surges of adrenaline flashing through him as he searched every cabin, only to find them empty.”

“He heard a scream then.” Stacie piped up by the girl’s side, she was holding a solo cup that contained a mix of alcohol as she stared into the fire, Aubrey giving her a thankful smile. “It was the girl. You see, he had left her like a sitting duck in the middle of an empty camp. And by the time he returned, she was dead. A single slit against her throat, the radio was still blasting the same report. A murderer was on the loose. Steer clear of the mountains. Steer clear of Camp Beaverbrook.”

“The boy got back in his car and drove to the nearest ranger station. All the while his dead date was in the passenger seat. He hadn’t the heart to leave her.” Aubrey started again, glancing down at her drink before scrunching up her nose as she had suddenly lost the stomach for it. “Three more people died that summer, and they never caught the escaped convict. They say to this day, he roams the forests around Camp Beaverbrook. Waiting to avenge the torment that he went through with a fresh set of kills every fifty years.”

There was a beat of silence then, breath pushing past the air and out in puffs. Chloe had been biting the inside of her mouth long enough to insight the taste of blood, and Beca? Well, Beca had shaken her head and downed the rest of her own beverage.

“Spooky,” Jessica broke the silence as she shivered from either the cold or the articulated story that some of the counselors had relayed. “You know, isn’t this the fiftieth year?”

“No way,” Chloe spoke up, “The fiftieth year was last summer. You all made a big deal about it.”

“No, it’s this year.” Aubrey stood, tossing her bottle into the metal can set up by the circle. The glass made a hollow sound against echoed metal. Beca flinched. "You’re just shit at math, Chloe.”

She let out a thick sigh, leaning further back into the log as she rested her arm on her folded knee, she had peeled most of the label off her bottle, the blanket falling from her shoulder, but she welcomed the cold. Yeah. She _was_ shit at math.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that I said I would actually stick to a posting schedule, but this story is too tempting and I can't. But the point is, I'm still writing it and I'm going to commit to writing it! Anyway, I'm serious when I say that your comments really do keep me writing. Even if I don't exactly know how to respond to all of them!


	5. Chapter 5

_Dear Dad,_

_I think I could get a little used to writing these letters. I’m not sure if you’re actually reading them, but if you are, this place isn’t so awful. Certainly, better than the alternative. Wilken’s hasn’t made the trip up here. Canceled the first time due to an emergency but I know I can’t push it off for long. I know that you like him, or whatever. You say he’s a good man, but something is off-putting about him. Maybe it’s the authority._

_Your Daughter,_

_Beca._

The mess hall didn’t smell as appetizing on an empty stomach; the undeniable scent of burnt grease was layered against Beca’s lungs and made her crave something a little stronger. It had a tinged sweetness to it, or maybe that was the syrup that Aubrey Posen was slathering against a stack of waffles. It dripped and ran into a crumbly mess on the edges of the plate. Her stomach churned.

Chloe’s lavender scent was strong and almost eased the concoction. She hadn’t slept very well, the mattress lumpy and the ill attempt by the camp to keep mosquitos out had been futile. Her legs were a scabbed mess, and new pink lumps were against her collarbone. She scratched at them absently, reaching for a piece of toast that was in the middle of the table. Maybe that would settle her stomach.

“You didn’t get in until late last night,” Jessica stated, shoving a mouthful of pancake past her lips as she chewed slowly, trying not to choke on the batter. Her deep grey eyes were staring towards Stacie, the girl reaching for her glass of orange juice.

“Eh,” She shrugged her shoulders, “I met the new counselor from cabin seven. We have a _lot_ in common.”  

Aubrey shook her head with a dull smile on her lips, seemingly having lost interest in her pancakes. She drew little patterns in her plate with the sharp edge of her fork. Chloe picked her own stare up from her food.

 “You nervous about today, Bree?” She asked.

An odd look crossed her features. Aubrey Posen was tightly wound, and even though Beca had just met her she knew that from the start. The way she sat with her back straight and kept her elbows off the table while she ate gave way to little fun. Last night at the campfire was one of the only times she saw a bit of herself in the girl. The one who would drown out anxieties with alcohol instead of perfectionism.

Beca bit the edge away from her toast. It was dry, but she didn’t want to reach across Chloe to grab the pad of butter. A strange heat seemed to engulf her each time their skin made contact. She blamed the warmth of the fire last night and the fleece blanket that was draped around them. But it happened again this morning as they brushed their teeth together. So domestic, Beca thought.

“Nervous? No. Not really.” Aubrey said “I practically ran the camp last year by myself anyway. This time Gail isn’t breathing down my neck, though. It should be good.”

“No more projectile accidents, right?” A counselor Beca didn’t recognize spoke up. He had created a sandwich out of the pancakes and bacon, unabashedly shoving it into his mouth as crumbs dripped down his dark green shirt. The table shook and he recoiled. “Ow! Jesus Christ, Bree. She kicked me!”

Chloe shrugged, “You deserved it.” 

Beca chewed slowly and didn’t ask questions. The wild look in the head counselors’ eyes gave her enough pause. She wasn’t here to make friends, she was here to keep to herself. Though, part of her knew Chloe Beale wouldn’t let her spend the summer coaching kids on how to properly use a jet ski without having some fun herself.

Her eyes moved to the small clock that hung above the doorway. They had been situated in the corner of the mess hall, sheltered from the noise of the campers tiredly eating their own breakfast. She could see the neon light from the kitchen seeping behind the side of the bench. It was nearly eight. Her stomach churned.

“Beca?”

“Huh?” someone had been talking to her. Aubrey had been talking to her. She knit her eyebrows together, looking at the rest of the people staring at her from the table. “What’d I miss?”

“I _said_ the two of us need to talk. I have a binder on water safety that we need to go through. It’s very important. Probably the most important part of this camp. We can’t have any accidents.”

“Yeah, I think I’m good.” She sounded out easily. “Just make sure kids don’t drown, right?”

“It’s more than that.”

She had struck a nerve, Aubrey had turned a different shade of red than she had seen before and it almost made her feel triumphant. Like she was picking at the strings of a violin that was wound all too tightly. It gave her a familiar rush. A defiant one.

Beca pushed her chair back, standing from her seat. “I’m not the one handling arrows, no offense.”

Stacie didn’t’ look up from her food. “None taken.”    

Aubrey had grown three more shades of red before Beca gave her a slight salute and turned her back, walking out into the cool morning light. She wasn’t used to the atmosphere of the mountain, but she felt hot. Hot from the interaction that had just occurred. There was dew on the grass that soaked into her pant legs and made them cling to her skin. She pulled her long sleeve shirt closer- the red lifeguard design was painted on with a weird substance, the whistle around her neck jingling with each step she took.

Beca took her time as she walked up to the cabin that overlooked the rest of the camp. It was more of a house than anything, large and looming. It had a green roof and looked like one of those places she would construct out of Lincoln logs when she was younger. Gail had hoarded herself away there like a mad scientist, and Beca never knew if she was supposed to knock or not.

Wilken’s had his black El Dorado parked out front. He had a New York license plate and his engine clicked in groaned from the mountain air. He hadn’t been here long, but Beca knew Gail had already offered him a cup of tea that he would decline. He wasn’t much of a tea drinker.

She knocked anyway and was greeted a few seconds later by the owner of the camp. She looked somber, a flannel and a large pair of thick-rimmed glasses. A mug was in her grasp and it radiated steam, edging at the lenses. Gail offered a kind smile, but it seemed forced.

“You’re early,”

“I thought the walk would be longer.”

Gail nodded and stepped inside. She expected to be led someone more formal, an office with a large oak desk and bookshelves lining the wall. Instead, she was sat in the middle of a sofa that faced two other chairs. A fire crackled to her right and made sweat form against her brow. It was sure to warm up soon, having burned all night. Wilkens eyed a full cup of tea that he was too polite to decline.

He was a dark man, black and grey hair that always accompanied the black suit that he wore. Today he evaded the tie, almost like it was more casual. But she had seen him in a court setting. His only two moods were formal and somber. Today seemed to be the ladder.

“Hello, Rebecca.” He lifted his chin “How have you been?”

“Okay, I think. Everyone is very welcoming.”

She had only been there for three days, and he dropped her off himself. Granted, they hadn’t made much conversation. He wasn’t one to ponder the weather or ask about the tides. instead, they rode quietly with the windows down until it got too cold.    

“Good, I’m glad.” He shifted in his seat, the leather squeaking under his weight. “Have you spoken to your father?”

“I write him letters. Have you?”

“No, afraid not.”

Beca nodded. Gail had been watching this interaction carefully. Neither her nor Beca found a reason for these visits and they had barely begun. He would ask the same questions. _How have you been? Have you spoken to your father? Have you caused any trouble?_ To which he would turn to Gail before asking _Has she caused any trouble?_

Wilken’s got her to sign paperwork that Beca didn’t care enough to read before thanking her and shaking the woman’s hand. He would nod at Beca too, a little form of affection before leaving completely. He drove away before anyone could ask questions an left the two girls in an unbridled silence.

“Want a muffin?” Gail asked, not drawing her eyes away from the fire. “Maybe some tea?”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! I worked 68 hours this week and also got the flu. SO... fun times.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter! Filler chapter! Filler Chapter! Seriously though, it's all part of the plan.

_Dear Mom,_

_Do you remember Cathy Halliwell? I do. She was the girl that I used to play with in first grade. The one who lived a few houses down- she was always so… defiant? It was like whatever she said or did pissed me off (excuse my language) and she knew it. She wanted to get me angry. She wanted to get a rise out of me to see what I would do if she pushed me too hard. My watersports director is Cathy Halliwell. Okay, well, not literally but she’s close enough._

_Aubrey M. Posen._

The sun reflected off the water, its ripples cutting across a normally calm surface. Everything looked almost silver- a metallic edge to a simple body of water. Aubrey tried not to stare into the sun often, her eyes squinted and a strange heat collecting under her stare. She watched like a gargoyle crouched on a stone roof.

Instead of glowing ruby eyes, there was a cup of coffee in her hands and a push of breath past her lips. It was bitter and burnt. She never trusted Jesse when it came to the beverage. He scarcely drank it. When he did he was wired for days with a stomach ache but he had no quarrels when it came to throwing on a pot of water.

She flinched at the taste and lowered it.

Beca Mitchell was keeping a watchful eye on the kids in the water. A whistle was slung around her neck and she even moved it up to her lips to shout a few times. The campers minded her but that didn’t stop the seething edge that wormed under her skin. There was something off about Beca.

She had scampered away from breakfast yesterday morning like it was nothing, shoving a piece of bacon into her mouth before vanishing into a cloud of fog from the higher levels of the mountain. Her words were sharp, and her movements were strong but behind those sullen eyes was a damped soul with the need for something more. Something she wasn’t telling Chloe.

“You’ll set her on fire if you keep staring like that, you know?”

Aubrey let her stare linger for a few more seconds. Then she cast her eyes over to the voice, over to the tender gaze that met hers. It was warm and blissful, yet naive at the same time. Aubrey recognized the girl from last year, though she had grown into her height, had grown into a lot of things.

Emily stood tall, a towel held against a mess of wet hair. She had dried it enough to give it a messy shine in the sun. A bikini held her curves and sun-kissed skin. She had pulled herself from the water and Aubrey was too distracted to have noticed the shift of the rocks and the sound of water dripping. Emily was distracting at best, and that goofy grin on her face was nothing short of endearing.

“Not that… I snuck into the movie Carrie when I was way too young to see it. Not the best idea, because the only thing I could think of was how she set that whole gym on fire because she was angry.”

“What makes you think I’m angry?”

“Oh,” Emily quieted “I’m not sure, I guess. That crinkle in your nose is a bit of a dead giveaway.”

Aubrey forced a breathy mess past her lips and shoved her hands into her jean short pockets, the whistle she was running her tongue over a second ago dropped. It was cold against her chest, but her eyes barely flicked over to it. Instead, she studied the camper. “I don’t have a crinkle.”

“You do,” Emily narrowed her stare and ran her own finger over the bridge of her nose “It kind of forms right here. And it seems to only happen when coach Mitchell is around. See! There it is again!”

The head counselor couldn’t wipe the dorky grin off her face as Emily beamed back, trying to work her fingers through the wet mane of hair that was framing her face. “Coach- you, I mean, you actually call her _coach?”_

Aubrey couldn’t help the disdain that leaked into her voice, it was one of those things that her therapist talked to her about: _don’t be quick to judge Aubrey, dear. Not everything can be up to par._ Her parents had forced her into those sessions in the first place in an attempt to loosen the strings they tightened. Aubrey would nod along and act like she was taking the advice to heart, but she never would. Not the way she was supposed to.

Camp had made it easier on her. She would allow herself to crack open a beer on the edge of a log, denting something that nature had created. The bubbles would wash over her grasp and she would down the other half without a thought.

“Well, what do you suggest we call her?”

Aubrey could swear that she saw Emily lean in. The towel was now strung over her shoulder and the primal scent of lake water sprinkled her skin. It was musty and mixed so evenly with the cheap sunscreen that kept Emily’s cheeks from reddening.

“Scum.”

“Relax,” Emily barked out a laugh. Aubrey was about to shoot her a narrowed glare but there was a gentle and subtle touch that squeezed at her shoulder. Emily’s fingers were warm, and a tingle ran against her arm. It instantly made the tension in her shoulder melt. The brunette almost drew back, testing the water, it seemed. “I know Beca isn’t your favorite person, but she actually minds us pretty well.”

“That is an understatement.” She sighed.

Aubrey wasn’t exactly sure why she was telling all of this to Emily; Emily who had the kind eyes, the sun hitting them in just the right way to invoke a golden honey. She had a cautious smile and the blonde had recalled the years the two of them spent with sparring glances.

She would stare across the fire. Her breath pushed into the midnight air and she nursed the drink in her hands. Emily would glance over the flames a taunting smile on her face that could easily be excused as innocent. But Aubrey felt a heat that never had anything to do with the campfire. However, she pushed it down. She was the head counselor now, and Emily? Emily was still just a camper.

“I don’t trust her.” Aubrey finally allowed herself. “She’s snuck away more than once.”

“Social recluse, maybe?”

“Maybe. Or a raging bitch.”

“Mm,” Emily paced herself, casting out a glance to the woman who lifted an eyebrow her way. “You know, I uh, I used to think that about you?”

Aubrey was back to sputtering; her fingers found the little pieces of lint in her pockets. She had rolled them up into little tight balls like she used to do with gum wrappers or the ridged edges of notebook paper in class. It was a nervous habit, but it beat giving into the nausea. “What?”

“You used to scare me, _a lot.”_ She said, continuing to stare at the lake that had grown darker with the engrossed season. “But then I got to know you a little bit better and… maybe give her a chance is all? I’m not saying shove your tongue down her throat because that’s-“

Aubrey lifted an eyebrow.

“That is not what I meant, you shouldn’t come onto her or anything, I mean… that’s not what I want to do to you. Not that I wouldn’t _enjoy_ that because I would it’s just-“She let out a long sigh, placing her face in the palm of her hand.

“Emily?”

“Yeah?”

“Go cool off.”

“I’m gonna-“Her voice was shaky “yeah”

Aubrey watched as the girl let her towel drop to the rocky shore, a puddle of fabric that she wished she could keep her gaze on. Emily flicked her gaze down before taking a few more steps to the water and completely submerging herself. Aubrey tried not to stare, she really did.

But she was utterly helpless.    


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give a huge thanks to the awesome and always kind @agoddamnsupernova for not only editing this chapter but being a genuinely awesome human! Also @madstone015 for being super kind about this chapter too.

_Hey Mom!_

_It’s been what? A week since I’ve last written. I’m not really sure if they’re sending these letters on Fridays or if they actually spend that much money on postage. Part of me thinks that they don’t send them at all and they’re just sitting in those big plastic cases that Gail always keeps under lock and key. It’s been fun, though, but I’m ready to be a counselor now. I think this is the perfect send off._

_Emily_

She mindlessly pushed the three lone carrots against the broth backdrop. They looked sad, all of their coating having tinted the liquid that they swam in. They looked like little life rafts that could carry a whole person if a person was an ant.

She had her lip between her teeth, her stare trained in the general direction of the counselors. On one counselor that had the sunlight hitting her just right as it rose against the mess hall. Emily had a full conversation with her yesterday, one where she only choked on her words once or twice. She knew Aubrey, had seen her every single day at camp for the past three and a half years but still- each time was met with her heart in her throat and an instant moisture to her palms.

The blonde did a bit of a double take, first catching a gray gaze before shooting back down to her own food and up again. She offered up a kind smile and a half-hearted wave. Emily fumbled with herself, cheeks inflamed as she lifted her chin in a nod and looked back toward the grooves of the table that had gotten so interesting. An onion clung to the back of her spoon.

“You are helpless.” Hayley tore a generous piece from a roll, dipping it into the broth. “Just jump her bones already.”

“What?” Emily hissed, voice low “I don’t want to- I mean, she’s flawless but that doesn’t mean I need to have sex with her. Honestly just being in her presence-“She trailed off, gulping in a heap of air “Where’s Jane?”

“Nice change of subject Michel Emerson.”

Emily let out a deep grumble at the reference. Hayley was playing to her weakness; a shitty movie about vampires that hung from the bottom of train tracks. Michel Emerson had risked everything for a pretty girl with an alluring personality, even if it did turn him into a creature of the night. “Seriously, asshole, she hasn’t shown for lunch, and now dinner?”

“So? Jane never shows. She probably passed out after her time slot on the lake. Yeah?” Hayley rolled her eyes.

She had spent more than enough time talking Emily down. She had kept the clumsy girl from nearly drowning in the lake when Aubrey told her to simply cool off. It was getting late, there was sleep eating away at the edge of her mind and it showed in her demeanor. Not particularly sunny, but often times confused with discontent.

“Sure.” Emily agreed, not having anything else to do. She had lost all appetite for any type of dinner. There was a sneaking pinprick at the back of her mind. Something that she had gotten before. Her mother used to say the uneasiness was a clear sign that she needed to listen to her gut. But that was only before she put her on a plane for a class trip to New York with enough money to buy mace as soon as they touched down.

Now it was rocking her whole entire sense of being.

Emily let her spoon fall into the soup that was mainly untouched. It created a loud noise and beef broth soaked against her cheek. Hayley flinched, lifting her eyebrows. “You’re going to offend the chef.”

Coffee eyes shot towards the kitchen, Jesse was bringing the knife down on what looked like more onions. It certainly smelled that way. He had bulky headphones over his ears and a towel against his shoulder, head bobbing along. Somehow, she knew he would be okay.

She rolled her eyes and swung her legs over the bench. “Wha- where are you going?”

“I am going to go check her cabin,” Emily said, throwing her napkin down against the bowl of soup before gathering it all together. She didn’t wait for Hayley to open her mouth in protest, instead, she walked towards the very window that supplied the neon light of the kitchen.

Jesse glanced up, lifting his chin slightly before she gave him a wary smile and dropped the bowl before anyone else had, careful not to spill the broth. He went back to bobbing his head, and Emily exited the mess hall trying impossibly hard not to look towards the counselors.

There was a frigid chill to the air that made her seek for any type of warmth, a jacket over her simple cotton t-shirt, something to ease the cold that presented itself the moment the sun started to lower against the pine needle trees.

She shoved her hands into her jean shorts and walked against the path that had been carved out ages ago. There were boot prints, and even bare feet tracked in the loose dirt. Her breath pressed into the air in a soft cloud, something she used to exhaust. That small prick buzzing like her table was ready at a family restaurant.

The cabin looked bigger than before, almost like each of the three steps that she took up to the screen door were miles long. Her legs ached and shook, but she still pulled it open and glanced around the space: Her bed had been made this morning and was still left untouched. Hayley’s was a mess under her own, and Jane was empty. The covers were pulled back and the setting sun highlighted it in a ghastly orange.

Emily let out the breath that she didn’t know she was holding onto. Her lungs burned, and her ears were ringing now. A pressure and anxiety that she couldn’t fiddle with tugged at her. The door creaking open as she turned to face it.

Hayley.

She leaned against the doorframe, eyebrows raised. “Not here?”

“No, afraid not.” Emily let out a deep breath. “Dinner over?”

The girl nodded and flopped down on her mattress, stretching her hands out over her head as she groaned as her back popped in just the right way. She didn’t think she took that long to walk to the cabin across the camp, but she had, dragging her feet and begging for a reason to make the ringing stop.

Emily could feel her throat tighten and she blamed the cold air, not the deepening feeling in her stomach as she shook her head and pushed past her screen door, standing staggered against the steps to her cabin. It was crowded this time, kids trying to get back to their bunks before the mountain night grew chillier.

She watched as kids that wore a mix of forest green and golden yellow walked among counselors that were far from finished with their nights. She would often see the fire rising from the rocky shore and smell the beer in the metal trash cans that next morning. The thought made her skin prickle.

Aubrey Posen stood by the edge of the path, her arms crossed over her chest as those deep green eyes peered into Beca’s. The girl was shorter than her superior, but the way she puffed out her chest and sneered made Emily think that she had more gall than the woman she was looking for. Chloe had an even hand on her shoulder as if to hold her back or pull her to their shared cabin. The archery instructor lifting perfectly sculpted eyebrows up in discontent.

Emily steeled her nerves and walked forward, cutting across the crowd as a few people mumbled while others stared directly at her. She kept her distance, but not too much, Beca Mitchell shooting her midnight stare her way as if to acknowledge her presence.

“Hey, Em” Chloe offered up warmly, trying to defuse the situation, Aubrey’s own stare had softened a great deal, though, she never let her shoulders drop. “What’s up?”

She wanted words for form, really, she did. But they seemed to stall in her throat. At the crackling sound that she let out, Aubrey straightened her shoulders and turned herself completely towards the camper, knitting her brow. “Em?”

“I don’t want to bother you, it’s just- Jane, my cabin mate, I haven’t seen her all day.”

She knew she was taking it slow, mumbling. Four sets of eyes were on her. The surrounding area had been voided of kids, all of them sneaking liquor in their own cabins. Smoking loose cigarettes that they had hidden in their t-shirts before spraying a thick layer of lavender spray.   

“She usually misses breakfast, but never lunch, or dinner. I’m uh, I’m worried about her.”

“Jane Eide?” Stacie asked, shoving her hands into the pockets of her oversized sweatshirt. “I’ve been working with her. She didn’t show today, though, figured she had fallen asleep.”

“I pulled her from the water the other night,” Beca admitted, “Late. She and two others were out on the lake after dark.”

Aubrey pulled in an easy breath, one that was far too calm for a situation like this, there was an unknown type of fear that was behind her darkened eyes. One that she wouldn’t really admit to, but Emily could see it. She could feel it.

“Right, so no one has seen her since last night?” All silence and blinking eyes. “Emily, did you hear her come in last night?”

“No, I didn’t. Neither did Hayley.”

“Okay. Stacie, you go back to the mess hall with Jesse, search the mess hall and the quad.” Aubrey had a certain stiffness to her voice. “Chloe, Beca. I need you to go to the north building and check the phone log- maybe she phoned home. Emily, follow me.”

No one made a move for a few seconds, just staring at the woman in front of them until she clapped her hands together and snapped everyone out of a haze that felt like a hazy dream. Campers didn’t just vanish. Some would get homesick, sure, but they would call their parents and get picked up begrudgingly. The feeling Emily had seemed to stem within the circle of them and extend- Stacie the first to nod and step away, doing a slight jog towards her station.

Chloe took reign and used the hand still on Beca’s shoulder to drag her towards the building that housed a small desk and the white postal bucket that everyone placed their letters in. There was a phone and a yellow log to write in, hopefully, Jane had.

“Come on,” Aubrey said, and Emily followed like an obedient dog on a short leash. They were walking in one clear direction and Aubrey was moving fast the cold not seeming to get to her, so Emily rolled her shoulders back and forgot about her own chilled bones.

Aubrey pushed past the door to her little cabin, something that looked out over the east side of the lake and was isolated to everyone else. No one dared come this close to a place like this, the place that Aubrey would sit and drink coffee before anyone disturbed her.

Emily didn’t know what to expect, but it looked almost normal: There was a little television that was an obnoxious shade of blue and had rabbit ears stretching to the sky. A nicely made bed and a small table with two chairs on either side of it. There were lights strung up over a floral bedspread. It smelled thickly of lavender, and it pulled Emily in. She struggled to stay against the threshold.

“Here,” Aubrey seemed slightly out of breath, she stretched forward and handed Emily a hard metal flashlight. She had palmed one herself, its silver shell reflecting the fairy lights. “We’re going to check around the lake.”

“Okay,” was all Emily could mumble, the woman pulled open what looked like a closet instead of a dresser. She produced a brown leather bomber jacket that had a fur collar, folded and covered in patches. It looked worn and overwhelmed her with scent as it was tossed in her direction. “I can’t-“

“It’s cold,” Aubrey said tenderly. She was wearing a sweatshirt herself, adjusting the collar as she flicked off the light and pressed herself through the doorway. Emily could feel her heat against her front.

She hurriedly slid it over her shoulders before closing the door and jogging slightly to catch up with Aubrey, she had already flicked her flashlight on. It created a circle of yellow that she swept over the grounds that they walked against, their sneakers loud compared to the silence of the night. Emily couldn’t hear crickets.

Her shoulder would bump against Aubrey’s every couple of steps, and she savored the touch, moving her own beam of light close to the water’s edge. It lapped at the stones and made them look prettier than they really were.

“I lost my hamster once.” Emily finally said timidly.

There was a slight hint of a laugh, or maybe a scoff, that pushed past Aubrey’s lips. Either way,  its splayed against the darkness of the sky in a puff of white. “What?”

“Yeah, when I was six, I had a hamster and he got out of his cage somehow. We couldn’t find him for a couple of days- maybe a week. I don’t remember. I was six. But we finally found him, you know.”

“Where was he?” Aubrey asked, pulling a branch up for the both of them to duck under. It smelled like pine and dropped dead needles at the movement. The lights from the camp were getting smaller as they wandered into the large isolated parts of the perimeter. The lights from the cabins looked like they were put through a funhouse mirror as they reflected off the inky water.

“He was in the television.”

“Your hamster?”

Emily hummed in response, letting her light move against the stretch of trees. They looked scarier at night. “Yeah, in that little part where the speakers usually are. He had chewed through all of them, so at least we knew he didn’t starve. The little guy lived four more years after that… so uh, maybe we’ll find her. You know?”

“Jane is a person, not a rodent.”

“Oh, I know,” Emily’s shoe slid on the closest rock, the sound splaying oddly as Aubrey instinctively reached and clutched onto her arm, keeping her from sliding too much “Thanks. I just don’t think I’ve lost anything else before.”

Aubrey stopped then, her back to the forest as she parted her lips. Emily didn’t know if it had anything to do with her eyes adjusting or the fact that the moon had risen to its fullest point, but it was easier to see. Every part of Aubrey looked milky blue, her lips and eyes darker than the rest of her subtle features. She looked like a siren, playing oddly with the rubber button on her light. Almost like she was nervous.

“I have,” Aubrey said, so softly it was almost muted by the water lapping the shore. “My father he uh, he left when I was fifteen, maybe sixteen? I don’t think we tried too hard to find him but it um, it feels kind of like this. You know?”

“Like someone is holding your heart and just kind of… squeezes it?”

Aubrey let out a long-held onto breath “Yeah, yeah. Like that. Is it getting tighter for you too?”

Emily chewed on her bottom lip. She had to admit, the feeling seemed to melt away around Aubrey. She was a calming presence, an authority figure that she gawked at if anything. Aubrey sniffed, eyes sad in the moonlight as they flicked towards Emily’s mouth. “Yeah, I think so.” It was no more than a whisper.

“Emily…?”

“Yeah, Aubrey?”

The older woman’s hands were cold as she took a fluid step forward, her fingers curling around the back of Emily’ neck as she let the other hand hold tight against the flashlight. Emily had kissed people before, hell, she had done it often and diligently, but this was different. This was soft and Aubrey tasted like a mix of cinnamon and heat. Her nose was cold against her cheek as her touch moved against Emily’s jaw delicately.

Emily pulled away with a sharp breath, leaning her forehead against Aubrey’s. That hand around her heart had released its hold and let it flourish as the blood rushed past her ears. “Whoa.”

“That was-“Aubrey swallowed, her hand dropped her hand down “I’m sorry, I misread the situation, I’m sorry.” She apologized twice in one sentence, wanting to move away completely, but she had found Emily’s hand curled around the collar of her sweatshirt, holding her in place.

“No,” She whispered, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to do that but-“

“It’s not the right time.” Aubrey finished her thought, swallowing roughly. “We need to keep going.”

Emily nodded and eventually dislodged her fingers from the girl's coat, even if it was the last thing she wanted to do. They returned to walking in silence, their feet crunching against dried leaves and gravel. She could swear she felt the ghost of a cold hand.   


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is so late you guys, it's close to the holiday's and everything is hectic with family coming into town. Anyway, enjoy!

_Hey Dad,_

_Oh my god, it’s so unfair that you’re already on your way to the Bahama’s! I know that Miss Henderson from down the block is picking up the mail right now- so there’s a huge chance she’ll read this before you do. Anyway, I really hope you catch all the rays and take advantage of that buffet… On a darker note, that camper, Jane, she hasn’t been found yet. Here’s to hoping._

_Love you lots,_

_Chloe._

Chloe’s fingers ran against the grooved wood of the cabin wall. She could feel the subtle coolness soaking in through the glass paned window. Her breath clouded the surface, she could drag her finger across it and draw a lopsided heart as she used to when she was younger. Instead, she kept her eyes trained on the camp sign.

The engraved lettering was washed in a mix of blue and red every few moments, blinking and flashing to the point of morphing into a dark purple. It shaded Chloe’s features and made them look dark and cynical, she breathed out, letting the sheer white curtains in the cabin fall back to their resting place.

She cast her stare over to the tables that were filled with campers, some of them had the sense to awkwardly look back down at the ribbon they were weaving, the others openly gawked and even shifted their chairs to get a better look at the sheriff’s car that had pulled up a few moments ago.

Chloe cleared her throat evenly, shoving her hands in the pockets over her woven green shorts. She wishes she wore something longer. But Aubrey had pulled her aside and instructed her to keep her campers longer than usual. They were all blinking silently at her, those who hadn’t caught up quickly averted their attention.

Hayley, an older camper with a pension for anger and bribery was sitting in the corner, her feet up and a magazine in front of her face. They had moved her from her cabin, taken her away from a potential crime scene that made Chloe’s stomach churn.

“Miss Beale?” Anthony spoke up from his seat at the end of the table. He was a slight boy that was often swallowed up by his clothes. His mother hovered too much and had a whole list of things he couldn’t do. Aubrey practically ignored all the demands except for the peanut allergy.

“Yeah, bud?” She asked, squatting down so she could get a good look at the bracelet that he was struggling with. “Need some help?”

“No… What are the police doing here?” Hayley scoffed and turned the page of her magazine, Chloe fought the urge to turn around and shoot her a glare. Instead, she lifted both of her eyebrows, her stare moving over to the window once more. Anthony blinked a few times and shifted in his seat to the point of draping his arm over the back of the chair. “Did someone drown?”

“Wha- No,” Chloe stood, shaking her head as the rest of the room stared at her evenly. She had a dozen tiny eyes blinking and hoping for an explanation. Aubrey had prepped her on how to keep them busy, but not what to say if they started to ask questions. No one counted on the questions. “Everything is fine, the Sheriff is just visiting.”

Anna picked up a pair of safety scissors “No he’s not, something is wrong, my dad says that cops never show up unless someone is guilty of something.”  

“Your dad sounds like he watches too much Barney Miller.”

Chloe folded her arms over her chest and directs her attention towards the door to the crafting cabin. She scrunched up her features as Anna shrugged her shoulders and went back to cutting the lengths of string. Stacie Conrad was leaning against the door, her nose raw and red from the chilly night air, flashes of purple dominating her stance. She lifted her chin, sullen eyes shifting towards the front of the cabin.

“Hayley,”

“Yeah, yeah” She responded setting down the magazine and leaning forward to talk to the kids. She didn’t look like the caring type, but at this moment, Chloe didn’t’ seem to care. There was a certain jarring effect to the quad being bathed in the cold atmosphere of police lights. One that settled against the inside of her stomach and made her feel hollow the second she shut the door behind her. Stacie was leaning against the railing of the porch, a worried look etched upon her features.

She had underestimated the effect of the cold chill in the air, hugging her arms close.

“People are asking a lot of questions.” Stacie finally said, voice sullen. “Gail has been in that cabin fortress of hers talking to the sheriff for close to an hour now. It looks like they called someone up from the state too.”

Chloe dug her nails into the wood of the railing and leaned forward, trying to get a better look at the silver and blue car that had its headlights trained at the mess hall. Next to that was a black El Dorado that reminded Chloe of a supervillain, or someone who would pop the collar of his trench coat.

A stranger did lean against the front of the car, making it tilt to one side. He had a cigar trapped between his teeth as smoke rose into the starry sky almost as if it belonged. His hands were crossed over his chest and his lungs puffed out little rings. Beca Mitchell stood close by him, talking animatedly about something. He kept a calm composure compared to her arms cutting through the air.

He shook his head and put a hand on her shoulder before stomping out the cigar. Beca glared at the contact but didn’t’ make a move to shove him off. “You think that guy is with the state?”

“Don’t see why else he would come up to a small camp like this over someone who probably ran away in the middle of the night.”

Chloe pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and rocked back and forth on her heels. The man glanced towards them, giving a half-hearted wave before Beca lowered her eyes into her palm, rubbing her temples. “I don’t understand why he’d be talking to Beca.”

“She was the last one to see Jane, Chloe. I’m sure that’s it.”   

Chloe put all her weight on her hands and let the wood dig into soft palms. Beca still hadn’t looked up from her own grasp, and the man had removed his cigar before shoving the burning embers into the painted hood of the car. He dusted his hands off and gave her roommate one last squeeze on the shoulder pulled his car door open. Even from here, Chloe cringed at the way the El Dorado groaned.

“You ever notice how Beca just kind of sneaks off all the time?”

Chloe knit her brow together. She didn’t’ think it was _all_ of the time. There were moments where she would run out on a meal and end up begging Jesse to let her eat the dry cereal that was kept on top of the fridge. Times where Chloe would wake up to Beca grasping a flashlight before dawn even broke and heading into the foggy hills. But she wouldn’t say it was all the time.

“No, I can’t say I have.”

Beca Mitchell was an enigma in herself; she was rough around the edges, a tough nut to crack as far as Chloe was concerned. Everything about the woman was enough to send her heart into overdrive. She would sneak into the placid throws of a forest without light and it would make Chloe question everything- question her well being and her blind trust in a woman she had just met.

But then, Beca Mitchell would cover her up when she got into the cabin, smelling like enough pine to stir Chloe’s senses. She would pull the edges of the blanket over her shoulders and ever give it a slight squeeze before silently slipping off her converse. They had flames on them. She would gently talk to a crying child and apply a bandage, and she would help Jesse in the mess hall with dishes in sparing conversation. But maybe Stacie had a point. Maybe Beca did harbor something other than a caged heart and a pension to get under Aubrey Posen’s skin.

They watched Beca as she watched the man. His headlights ignited the dirt kicked up by rubber tires in a smoky mess that would irritate anyone. The silver bumper of his car came close enough to clip the belt buckle on Beca’s frayed jean shorts, but she refused to move, a worried scowl on her face and her arms crossed over her chest.

The stranger seemed to light another cigar, it’s angry red end glowing like a demon with prey in its vision, jaws dripping and engine growling. He said something to her through an open window leaking acid smoke. Beca Mitchell simply nodded, and Chloe Beale hugged herself closer.   


	9. Chapter 9

_Dear Dad,_

_They haven’t found the body yet. I don’t know if it’s because of the lack of law enforcement that they called in, or if there isn’t a body to be found, but it’s sent the camp into an eerie quiet. Aubrey is convinced that the lake needs to be dredged up until there’s nothing left but toxic mud. I don’t think they would find Jane. They might find someone else though. This place has been around for a long time, you know? Maybe you are right. Maybe trouble just follows me wherever I go._

_Your Daughter,_

_Beca_

The tea barely had any taste; a mix of mint leaves and heated water that Beca felt move all the way down to the base of her stomach. This morning had been a cold one, cold enough for her to accept the beverage that had slid across the table her way. She didn’t mind the dull taste, or the fire that ate away at the logs next to her. It was almost comforting today. It thawed her out.

She let the steam warm her cheeks, she could feel the blood rise to the surface of her skin as she inhaled the strong scent, letting her eyes close. Her mother used had the habit of curling up on the end of the couch with a steaming hot cup of camomile just like this one. The mugs never matched, and the brew would get stronger at times, but it was like this. It had been like this.

“I’m going to ask what we’re all thinking.” Wilken’s broke the silence like dropped china. The pink little flowers on the plates would lose its petals and its vines would be cut. “Are you planning on closing the camp?”

Beca opened her eyes and moved her midnight stare up to the two sitting oddly close to one another. He was nursing a pastry on a little white napkin that had more crumbs than free space. The baked good was half-raised to his lips and a fine helping of jelly seemed to drip past the flaky layers. Gail looked above the rims of her silver glasses.

Anyone looking in on the situation would see a family fit for an oil painting, a house that had a vacant space above the mantel and a nice serene cabin in the middle of the woods. There would be no camp, no missing child, no lake that needed to be drained as simply as a plug pulled from a Victorian bathtub.

Instead, it was a woman in charge, a counselor who had struggled to hide the scent of a cigarette with vanilla bean body spray, and a probation officer who seemed to overstay his welcome. Dysfunctional and edged with tension. “No, I’m afraid not. We’ve never closed the camp before and we’re not doing it now.”

Wilken’s snapped his jaw shut and set the pasty to the side. He laced his fingers together. There was a glob of sticky jam still on his thumb, but he didn’t’ seem to notice. “What if she’s dead?”

“We don’t know anything yet, officer.” Gail’s voice was leaking with poison, Beca looking back and forth between the two like she wasn’t there at all. A ghost that was chained to the seat and adhered to a mug of tea that was too hot to drink. “We’ve sent out an automated phone call to all of the parents. They’re very aware of the situation. Whoever deems it necessary to pick up their child can, and _will._ ”

“What about Jane’s parents?”

Gail directed her stare towards Beca, who froze like a deer in headlights. She had never spoken out of turn in the five weeks that she had been here. She would answer the questions given to her and behave on the lake. No one had drowned yet, and that was the exact report that she had run through each week and responded to Wilken’s with ease. It was routine. The woman’s eyes softened.

“They got a phone call that wasn’t automated. They’re aware of the situation, it’s nice of you to ask.”

Beca nodded. She felt like the camp director was stepping on eggshells. As if Beca caring about another person warranted a pat on the head and a little treat. She would have protested but figured Gail Abernathy had enough on her plate as it is.

“Rebecca,” Wilken’s cut through the air, “I think we need to discuss what will happen if the camp is… um, temporarily closed.” 

Gail let the comment hang in the air for a few moments before Beca nodded softly. She adjusted herself in the leather seat and set the mug down on the table, a cork coaster. The fabric was loud and squeaked evenly, her cheeks reddened. “Okay,”

“If you can’t finish your community hours here, it’s safe to say you’ll have to finish out your sentence at Tread Lock.” Beca’s chest tightened. “A month, two tops.”

Fifty days. That was fifty days locked up in some room that had nothing but a mattress on a wire frame coated in rubber to keep kids much worse than her from making sharpened blades and rushing at her throat. The blood would spill, and her father would be called. She wondered if he would even care.

“Tread Lock?” The name slipped through Gail’s lips before Beca had a chance to echo the man herself. “The correctional facility in the city?”

“It’s juvenile detention. Not a jail. It whips kids into shape.”

Beca couldn’t stop the snort that moved past her lips. Wilken’s thought the state had gone easy on her by letting her spend the summer doing community service instead of taking her to the van in shackles in the first place. Orange simply wasn’t her color, and the man had fawned concern. She imagined him practicing his glossy-eyed stare in his side mirrors before trudging up here.

“We’re not closing the camp. Beca is doing a fine job. I think we’re done here today- don't you?” She had cut the probation officer off before anything else could happen. He simply stiffened and nodded his head, his jacket louder than she remembered.

Wilken’s had waved her off, making some type of excuse to stay behind and speak to the camp director. It would be easy enough: _Want to sign these documents over dinner and something stronger than tea?_

She swallowed back the minty taste on her tongue and stepped into the warming daytime air. It wasn’t quite time for her spot at the lake yet, but the fog had dissipated, and her stomach clenched in the primal need for food. She skipped breakfast on days like these, learning it was easier to sneak away from her cabin instead of dismissing herself from a table filled with curious counselors.

“Fucking Tread Lock,” She mumbled under her breath. Her legs had gotten used to the hilly atmosphere, mind surrounded by her thoughts as she hiked towards the mess hall. She nodded willfully at the kids who called out her name and gave her a sporadic wave, a smile fighting past her rough exterior. Her cousin had lost an eye at Tread Lock.

Beca rapped on the back door to the mess hall three times. The metal echoed before it creaked open. “What’s the password?”

“Tarantino.”

A warm light cut through the morning sun, Jesse Swanson holding a bright and undeniable smile. He had a dirtied towel over his shoulder and a grease-stained Camp Beaverbrook shirt on. There was a large pile of half-peeled potato’s behind him, a plastic bin with shavings slowly overflowing. “Good morning Maverick.”

Beca pushed past the door into the kitchen, breathing in the sweet scent. She could hear a pot of water boiling against the back burner. It was a lull of noise that almost soothed her. “I don’t know what that means, but you can call me whatever you want if you saved me anything from breakfast.” She turned on her heel, quirking a brow as the door slammed shut.

“Oven, bottom shelf.” Jesse took the rag from his shoulder and wiped away whatever dirt had culminated against his palms. “It’s from Top Gun, you know, Maverick?” Beca shook her head “Goose? Iceman?”

She leaned down and took the tray from the bottom shelf, it was still warm and piled high with eggs and three strips of bacon. Jesse had even slid in two pieces of toast for an extra kick. She didn’t say anything, leaning over the counter as she shoveled a forkful of eggs into her mouth, Jesse throwing the towel back over his shoulder before going back to peeling the vegetables.

“You are a menace to society, you know that, right?

“Call me what you want, at least I’m not hungry.”

Jesse Swanson was a good enough guy, if not a dork. He had a strong obsession with movies and had taken to calling her something new each day. The only one she had understood so far was Batman and Robin, which earned a cheeky grin and a pat on the back.

She set the plate to the side and hopped up on the counter that was mainly used for prep. Beca Mitchell didn’t exactly trust herself when it came to being near heat radiating surfaces. Instead, she pulled the plate onto her lap and continued to push food into her mouth, trying to rush past the clock before she had to get to the edge of the lake.

“How’d your meeting thingy go?”

“It went.” She shrugged her shoulders as she took a generous bite of the last strip of bacon on her plate. Her stomach was a bit unsettled at the speed she had eaten but there was something else pulling away at her. Something like a juvenile detention center and a missing kid that was last in her sights. “I thought camp was supposed to be easy, you know?”

Jesse just scoffed and pressed the sharpened edge of the blade into the potato, juices dripped down his elbow and onto the floor- Beca watched with an intent expression on her face. Jesse worked almost rhythmically and part of her understood why his father told him to put the camera down and apply to culinary school. She kept her mouth shut.

“Off the counter, Beca.”

There was a sharp voice that cut through the warm serenity of the kitchen. Aubrey Posen didn’t need to knock on the back door, instead, she leaned close to the doorframe, her shining whistle hanging around her throat like a four-pointed badge of honor. Beca hated that smug look on her face and the way Jesse Swanson straightened his stance as soon as her presence was known.

“We need to talk.” She said.

Beca lifted an eyebrow and kept her perch on the surface. She felt like a stone crafted gargoyle with red glowing eyes and long stretching wings. “I’ve got five more minutes until my spot on the lake, Aubrey-“

“Not about your tardiness, about Jane.”

The room seemed to grow even stiller than it was before. Beca knew that birds always chirped as the sun rose and crickets strung their violins when the moon stamped against a blanket of stars. Jesse let out a light sigh and grabbed the nearest long edged knife he could find. He didn’t bother with the cutting board, instead, slicing through raw potatoes evenly.

“What about Jane? Have they found her?” _Alive, hopefully._

Aubrey looked at her in complete lunacy. Almost as if Gail had this morning but in the opposite end. She wasn’t rewarded with a small pat on the head for showing affection towards a tragedy. Aubrey hugged her arms tighter and clenched her jaw. “No, no they haven’t. I figured they would find at least something based on what you’ve been saying.”

“And what exactly have I been saying?” Beca quirked an eyebrow, hopping down from the counter before she placed her plate in the metal sink with a clink. She flicked on the running water, ready to wet her hands.

“You were the last one to see Jane,” Aubrey confirmed, staring hesitantly as Beca squeezed a glob of bubblegum pink soap into her palm. It smelled fruity. She hummed in response. “She was in the lake and you supposedly pulled her from the water before sending her back to her cabin. The cabin that Emily assures me was undisturbed after her and Hayley had settled in.”

“ _Emily_ was asleep.” Beca shut the water off, shaking her hands dry before grasping at a cloth rag and squeezing her fingers under it. She turned to face Aubrey, not intimidated by the stance or the hard, hazel stare. “What exactly are you implying, Aubrey?”

“You know what happened to her, don’t you?” Her voice was a slight whisper, but Jesse had stopped chopping and Beca had changed the rhythm of her breath. “Lurking around the woods, meeting with some stranger- if you didn’t’… you’re hiding something. Something you won’t even tell Chloe. She might be too blind to see it, but I’m not.”  

Up until recently, Beca Mitchell had been a shoot first, ask questions later type of girl. She would steel herself and throw a punch, her nails digging a stinging crescent shape into clay-like skin. Instead, her fingers twitched, and her mouth went dry, she simply said: “I can trust you won’t be insulted when I call you paranoid.”

“Me? Paranoid?” Aubrey’s voice rose an octave and Beca bit her tongue until she could taste salted blood. “You’re practically part of the shadows around here, you know that, right? Everything thinks its absolute rubbish that they haven’t even begun to question you.”

The watersports director narrowed her gaze before flashing it towards Jesse. He had a sullen look on his face, the knife still clenched at his side. “Is that true?” her voice was pinched “You all think I had something to do with Jane’s disappearance?”

His brown eyes were downcast as he gave a half-hearted shrug. Jesse had never been this quiet and Aubrey had never turned this shade of red before. There was a thick tension in the air as Beca drew in a deep breath and lilted her head to the side, staring the woman with the whistle down.

“Now you want to be quiet? You don’t want to take my fingerprints or anything? Hell, Aubrey why don’t you just call the police now considering you’ve got it all figured out!”

“Maybe I will, Mitchell!” Aubrey had matched her volume with Beca’s “You and your _fucking_ attitude will have a hard time explaining yourself to State.”

Beca had to snort at that. State? The man with the button-down shirts and the El Dorado was her alibi for once instead of the person who scrutinized it. He would light up cigars until the cab of his vehicle was toxic and she choked, but he would have her back, Gail would have her back.

“Pull the stick out of your ass for once and realize what exactly you’re accusing me of!” Beca’s voice was frantic, angry as she stared between the camp cook and his superior, _her_ superior. Aubrey Posen parted her lips to speak, to counter the argument, but nothing more made it past her conscience. Not before an interruption.

“Guys,” Chloe Beale was breathless, hair still damp from the cold shower she had taken this morning, a fine layer of sweat coated all exposed skin, her tank-top hanging low and her blue iris’s lined in a red so fine it was almost written. Her nose scrunched at the tension in the room, Aubrey finally pulling her gaze away from Beca as she turned to face the frantic woman. Beca softened her own stance.

 “They found something.”     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holiday's you guys! This year your gift is a huge cliff-hanger (God did I miss writing those) hopefully you guys still enjoyed it and I would love some feedback because things are heating up at this point.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Right, so this chapter is where it starts to get a little bloody. You've been warned.

_Dear Mom,_

_Have you seen the news at all? I’m sure some right-wing station has picked up on what’s happening up here. Or maybe they haven’t at all. I know plenty of people go missing every single day and few are found alive. I don’t know the statistics. Can you believe that? Me, not knowing numbers… Jane wasn’t really a number though, was she? I think Gail is going to shut us down soon. Maybe we can spend the rest of the summer together._

_Aubrey M. Posen._

Emily Junk radiated a profound sadness. It was almost something that Aubrey could feel in her own depths- it was certainly something she could see; the way the girls usually soft and sunny features had been shrouded in a pale darkness. It had been subtle and silent at first, kind of like a glass of water being placed in a freezer.

The top would crystallize, and then the very center, the point of all contention and warmth, would slowly start to turn milky white. Not clear. It was the strongest part of this sadness and this cold front that scared Aubrey the most.

She was squatted in front of Emily now, knee close to touching the cold floor of her cabin. Her breath was pushing into the air and her nose was raw, either arm rested next to Emily on both sides. The camper had her stare trained forward, studying the grooves in the wood. She still wore the bomber jacket, it hugged her nicely and in any other situation, it would warm Aubrey’s heart. But now- the way Emily tugged the sleeves past her wrists and barely blinked her eyes, it stood as an anchor.

“Emily,” Aubrey’s voice was gentle, almost like she was testing the waters. The ice cold, solid as ever, waters. “Sweetie I need you to say something. Anything.”

Aubrey hadn’t meant to be all consumed by this camper that she had only spoken to a handful of times. One that was years younger than her and carried the sun on her shoulders (but never too close to melt those waxwings). She had noticed her more, taken to that innocent smile and that infectious laugh and now, this. This broken stature and barely visible light.

She had dropped her arrow into the dirt, its metal tip puncturing soft soil- the sound of barking moving through the camp in shuddered echoes. It was still early, and Aubrey’s stare met hers from across the quad, that sinking feeling universal as if a switch had been flipped.

Emily had dropped to her knees and struggled to stifle a sob, Stacie grasping onto the edge of her shirt trying to keep her from hitting with full impact. She cast a sad gaze up to Aubrey, a pleading one as she rubbed small circles on the girls back. Chloe muffled her own fingers to her lips and folded into Beca’s side, her nose pressed against her neck. The watersports director seemed to comfort her naturally.

Aubrey drew in a breath.  

She had stuck around long enough to talk to Gail and to watch the purple lights of the police car drive down the long gravel road. The coroner's van wasn’t far behind. The echoed sound of a dogs wails still pounded against her eardrums. Then she was here, kneeling on her floor in front of Emily. Emily who hadn’t spoken a word.

For once, Aubrey Posen was rendered speechless. How was she supposed to ease out evenly that it was okay when it most certainly was not? She could feel the bile in her stomach burn a hole past her resolve. But she swallowed it back, eyes pleading with Emily.

Emily didn’t make what Aubrey would describe as a sound. Instead, it was a breathy sigh that highlighted how torn her throat was. Her eyes blinked shut as two lingering tears dripped from her chin and soaked into her jeans. She pulled Aubrey close, and it didn’t’ take much for her to fall into place; arms wrapped around Emily’s waist as she pressed her ear against her stomach. She had never held her so close before, never felt the weight of Emily’s sobs against her cheek.

“Shh,” Aubrey soothed as Emily hugged her head closer, completely consuming the girl in the musky mint scent that she carried. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”

Aubrey couldn’t tell how long they sat there, or when exactly they migrated to the bed; Emily dug into her side, her cold nose pressed close to Aubrey’s neck as she rubbed slight circles on the woman’s back to soothe her. Emily had cried herself to sleep before the sun came up and Aubrey didn’t dare to move. Didn’t dare to sleep. How could she?

She listened to the way that Emily breathed and matched the pace with the hot spurts of air against her skin. It created goosebumps that betrayed her as her eyes traced the ceiling. The Rafters. This little cabin had been built for seclusion but had been pressed close to the lake. She could hear the waves lapping against the rocks.

Jane Eide wasn’t someone Aubrey had ever associated with. She had given the smiling girl her name tag the first day, its sticky adhesive pulling the fabric away from her bright attire. Emily had drawn her attention towards her during the welcoming ceremony and she would tick off her name when she reported to each activity. A name printed in ink, something to be crossed off until she wasn’t around to balance an arrow in her fingers anymore or dive off the end of the docks.

Emily shifted next to her, rhythm changing as her fingers dug into the fabric of Aubrey’s shirt. She blinked a few times, running the tips of her fingers over the bunched-up parts of the knitted design of a stupid beaver munching on wood. _This is better than nothing_ Aubrey thought silently. It was better than the ice that seemed to form over Emily’s skin.

“I’m sorry,” Emily rasped out, her voice sounded so broken and it made Aubrey’s chest buzz in pain. She flashed her hazel stare over faster than she had intended, Emily tightened her grip around the woman. “I know we just… I’m not a clingy person, Aubrey. I’m sure you didn’t intend for me to spend the night after one measly kiss, I just-“

Aubrey had reached her other hand up and placed it gently against Emily’s damp cheek. It was red and warm and blotchy because she had been whimpering in her sleep like a wounded animal that Aubrey couldn’t quite rush to the vet in time. “Hey, look at me?”

Emily simply nodded.

“That is the last thing I want you to worry about right now. I don’t blame you for not wanting to be in that cabin.” She eased out, propping herself up on her elbow as she stroked a strand of hair from Emily’s red-rimmed eyes. “I don’t blame you for any of this because it’s not your fault… terrible, terrible things happen sometimes, and we can’t change that. But we can change how we handle the world afterward.”

Emily had a look on her face that was unreadable, her lips were pressed together, and her fingers had grasped Aubrey’s. She didn’t necessarily play with them, but she held onto them with conviction and might. “I can stay here… for a little while?”

“For as long as you need.”

Emily’s lips were warm against her own, and they tasted like salt from the tears that had moved against her cheeks earlier. Emily’s fingers slowly traced a line of electric heat against her jaw, breath hot. Aubrey bit back the moan that edged at the base of her throat, instead simply enjoying the closeness of the girl.

“I hate to break this up, but I’ve really got to shower.”

She smiled into the embrace and nodded, a bit of sleep pulling at the corners of her stare. Emily pulled the jacket tighter around her and seemed to settle deeper into the mattress. Aubrey scoffed at the scene and stood from the bed before rifling through the same exact t-shirts that almost everyone owned in this place. She was convinced that the colors of green and gold had lost all heir in her mind. She could feel Emily’s eyes follow her movements.

Emily had drifted off before she closed the door softly behind her and breathed in the sticky morning air. It seemed to cling to her skin and give her more need for a shower. Aubrey hated this kind of humidity, missing Arizona and the dry heat that it offered. It was early enough for a thick layer of fog to settle upon the lake’s stillness.

 _At least there aren’t any police sirens._ Aubrey thought bitterly to herself. She had trouble explaining away what was going on to campers that were old enough to understand the shift in atmosphere. The police tape didn’t shake in the wind and there were no yellow markers for a crime scene. They had found her in the woods- the woods that surrounded every inch of this camp.

She pulled the wooden door to the shower stall open, clouds forming in the sky. Her fingers reached for the nozzle of the shower as she flicked on the deafening water. Aubrey stripped wordlessly and numb- were they going to shut down the camp? She couldn’t’ see a world where they wouldn’t. She could read the headlines now: _CAMPER FOUND MURDERED. COUNSELOR TO BLAME?_

It would be extravagant like that. The reporter would collect quotes about Beca, she was sure. “She was really quite nice, I never thought she would be capable of such a thing. It’s terrible, isn’t it? I mean really, what could have possessed her to do that?” Aubrey let the scenario fill her mind as she stripped and stepped under the cooling effects of the water. She breathed in, instantly sated.  

The water prickled against her skin, goosebumps pressing close to every inch of nude expanse. Aubrey could stay here forever and just think- let the water beat against her until she was practically numb.

Aubrey leaned forward, letting the side of her arm take the brunt of the weight as she rested her forehead against it. She sniffed as water dripped from her chin and snaked around her cheeks. She clenched her eyes shut, focusing on breathing.

She hadn’t noticed the white heat of pain at first, a mild discomfort that caused her to open her eyes. Her forest stare shot down to the water that collected at the base of the shower- brown. A dirty mix of metallic to the point of terracotta red. Aubrey’s nails dug into the wood as she quickly flipped her attention to the shower door.

Her fingers clenched blindly at the radiating warmth as a deep sting shot down her arm.

Aubrey Posen had only ever gone into shock once; she could recall the eating feeling of not being able to catch her breath in time to react. In feeling the edging fear and not being able to shift her mind to doing anything about it. Sleep paralysis. Therapy. Now, this. A blind frozenness that spread against every inch of her body until the lengths of ice had consumed her soul.

The figure stood plain as day in front of her, breath heavy and a simple hunting blade coated with the same sticky substance of blood that dripped evenly down Aubrey’s arm. It’s runoff falling from her fingertips and splashing to the ground in distilled color. They were in black, strong stature, but she couldn’t’ see much more, the condensation soaking through the shower and clouding her lungs. A heavy murky fog that would allow her to trace shapes in reflective surfaces.

They lunched forward, Aubrey letting out a yelp of primal fear that caught in her throat before turning into the beginning of a scream. The tip of the rusted blade splintered the wood above her shoulder. She could feel the slight gash already created a spike in searing pain. Her stare shot to the impact point for a split second before a cold hand clamped around her throat to stifle the yell. Aubrey hissed, bringing her knee up blindly into the abdomen of the figure. They grunted, pushing down in pain before Aubrey grasped the side of their head and pressed it evenly against the wall of the shower in one fluid movement and one sickening crunch.

It was brazened and fast, Aubrey’s heart pounding as the figure straightened up and pressed their shadowy fingers against their temple. She could see blood, smell it’s primal and earthy scent. Aubrey couldn’t distinguish features, couldn’t stop her heart from deafening her ears over the water. They let out a grunt, an animalistic sound before retreating entirely. Aubrey was pressed into the corner.

She blinked, twice to be exact, before sliding against the wall to the blood muddled floor of the shower. A scream finally escaped her lips. The burning and engulfing pain of the blade still dominating. It pulsed with her own heartbeat. Stinging and fresh. Her throat ached, knees pulled to her chest as she let the sob resting at the back of her mind pull forward. 

“Aubrey? Jesus Christ.” The words didn’t exactly register with her. The water is shut off and a towel is harsh against her skin. The scent of lavender is quick in her lungs. “What happened?”

Chloe has no regard for the water that soaks into her sweatpants, kneeling on the ground as Aubrey pulls the fabric closer to her skin. The white is soaked through almost instantly, breath shuttered. Chloe placed her cool fingers under the woman’s chin, leading her gaze, trying to capture focus.

Aubrey Posen felt cold despite the rancid heat. Like she had crystallized from the center, the point of all contention and warmth, was frozen solid.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit, I feel like this chapter was really bad. I haven't really written an action scene like this in a long while. So let me know what you think. Oh, and Happy New Year!


	11. Chapter 11

_Hey Mom,_

_Emily here. Who else would it be, though? I’m sure you’re expecting a phone call at some point but I don’t think I can bring myself to go in there. Not when Aubrey thought… It doesn’t matter. I got to meet Jane’s parents. They’re nice people. Normal people. Miss Eide has a job as a bank teller and I think Mr. Eide sells water heaters. They’re both taking breaks from that, though. Understandably. Maybe I’ll be seeing you a lot sooner than summers end._

_Emily_

The scent of blood wasn’t something Emily Junk had ever paid much mind to. When she was seven years old, she was dared by Nellie Zeeman to jump off the swings when the chains had creaked to their longest point, and she could practically touch the sky.

Emily had jumped off without a second conviction and she remembered the exact moment she landed in the mulch. She could technically taste the dirt that filled her mouth, the blood that mixed into an insane cocktail against her tongue. She had scraped her knee and red dripped down her bare leg. Nellie Zeeman ran the opposite direction before Emily’s lower lip quivered and she wailed. She could smell blood then.

She could smell blood now too.

It clawed at her throat like it had been slit with edging poison. It made her swallow roughly and it darkened her eyes to a different degree; Aubrey Posen was sat on the edge of a springy bed with a limp olive-green blanket that wasn’t tucked in all the way. Her hair was damp, and it clung to her shoulders.

The yellow shirt she wore was wet in different variants: where her locks fell, where her skin hadn’t dried, where a thick sanguine fluid wicked its way into the fabric of the tank top that had been woven in a factory somewhere in Ohio. Her hand was coated in rust and she shifted uncomfortably at the sound of the door opening. Emily panted, stunned.

She felt naïve at the thought that this was over, that it had stopped at one death. Maybe Jane had gotten lost in the woods and nature overtook every inch of the poor girl’s body until she had sunk into the soil herself. Emily hadn’t read the ME report. She hadn’t seen the body. She was foolish. Foolish and in overdrive.

“Oh my god, Aubrey.” Her words pushed through the thorns in her throat.

Emily had dropped down to her knees easily, not regarding the pain that shot through them as she carefully took Aubrey’s fingers. It was familiar, and Aubrey’s touch was chilled and clammy.

 “No,” The blonde whispered stopping Emily by applying pressure to her stance, she pulled her onto the bed, their knees touching.“Don’t.”

Emily nodded and let Aubrey breathe in softly. The air in the cabin was musty. There were posters on the wall, boy bands that Emily had admittedly plugged into her cassette player in an attempt to enjoy the static-filled sound. Her mother refused to give her a disc man, but now that the little plastic boxes were dying out, she had no reason not to invest in one. This had to be Chloe’s cabin.

Chloe who had pulled her from her thoughts and her sleep when she rushed in to grab clothes for Aubrey in the first place. She didn’t’ bat an eye at her, instead, telling her where to find Aubrey. She was going to run towards Gail, sweet Gail, who had yet to pull the camp from function.  

“Chloe was, Chloe is, trying her best,” Aubrey spoke, her eyes were trained on the evenly placed laundry basket that was overflowing with gold and green. “Poor thing can’t stand the sight of blood though. I think I need to get someone to clean up the shower. It’s awfully messy in there and-“

Emily shifted her touch to the woman’s wrist. She could feel the rapid heartbeat against the inside of her index finger. It pounded like a drum. “Aubrey, stop.”

The blonde drew in a heaving breath but kept her mouth shut. She was clearly unbothered, or numb, to the amount of blood that was dripping against her arm. It had slowed, even now. But it was worrisome. Her pear colored eyes were widened, and her heartbeat continued to sound like a snare.

“I don’t know what happened,” She finally whispered. “I was showering. The water was getting cold because I guess I stood there too long. I always stand there too long.”

Emily nodded gently, eyes trying to search the girl’s face. A purple bruise was forming around the laceration and Emily tried her hardest not to stare.

“They came at me, Em. I- I could feel the wood splinter under the tip of that knife. It burned.” Her throat audibly tightened. It wasn’t the beginning of a cry, because this was more than that. This was a fear that shook Aubrey Posen’s body harder than anything ever had before. “It just burns.”      

Aubrey melted into Emily’s side. The younger girl was pretty sure she would vanish into the floor if she had the chance. Her nose was cold against the inside of her neck and scent of blood wasn’t so noticeable anymore. The way Aubrey was crying was. The way her whole body shuttered, and fingers dug into the fabric of Emily’s shirt. She was like a pine tree, unwavering in the wind, finally pulling its roots from the deeply packed fine soil.  

Her chocolate gaze flipped up to the door as it creaked open. Stacie Conrad was breathing heavily, a little less tactful about keeping her disdain towards the wound to herself. “Chloe told me you needed this I- Should I grab someone who can fix you up?”  

Aubrey straightened up and moved the length of her arm across the base of her nose, chin lifting slightly as she gave an easy and collected stare.

The archer looked a little sickly compared to the blue of the sky. Maybe Stacie didn’t like blood. If Emily hadn’t been exposed to the dangers of it when she was young, she supposed she would look a bit green too.

“No, it’s alright.” Emily objected. “I can do it.”

She took the first aid kit from Stacie, who hung by the door for a few moments before ducking out into the ever-cooling air. Emily didn’t waste time digging through the plastic case. She found alcohol wipes, padding, and some wrapped bandages. The rest were band-aids that could hold up against water. Anti-itch spray. Usual things that would be needed at a camp this size. Aubrey followed her with reddened eyes, she sniffed softly.

Emily was careful as she tore away the wrapping of the wipe. The toxic scent of antiseptic-coated her lungs as she kneeled on the bed next to Aubrey, one foot hanging off the side. “This might sting, just a little.”

Aubrey hissed as the cool wipe met the mostly open wound.

“You know, I used to volunteer at an animal shelter during the winter. The doctor there, he had a lot of free time, so he started to teach me a few things. You don’t need stitches so that’s good, it didn’t cut deep enough.”

“Okay,”

“Right,” Emily Junk didn’t do well with awkward silence, but she could respect Aubrey Posen’s need to be quiet. Her own mind was still buzzing with trauma. Jane Eide was dead and the girl she may have _possibly_ felt a strong fondness for had been attacked in the showers. She struggled to silence her thoughts, and instead laid a pad of gauze down before wrapping the majority of Aubrey’s arm. “You’re all set.”

“Thank you, Emily.”

Aubrey stood herself, rolling her shoulders back as much as she could, her eyes darkening. Emily had seen it before; that rage hungry look that translated from pain. It made her freeze, feeling that edge of ice bite at her skin once more. She settled for playing with the fuzz at the end of Aubrey’s jacket, the fabric stretching past her wrist.

“Where are you going?”

“It’s fine,” Her voice was tender, “I just need to take care of a few things. Stay here if you want.”

Emily opened her mouth to object but was met by the screen door opening and closing. She stared at the way the lined material looked so vivid against the daylight as she blinked a few times before shoving off the bed herself and walking onto the creaking porch. Everything looked the same.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting: A lake filled with blood, a sky harbored with rolling clouds ready to rain down acid. At least a police car to take a statement about a possible killer still on the campgrounds. Instead, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Aubrey looked distraught compared to her usual demeanor.

Emily found herself following at will, her sneakers crunching against the grass as she stopped right at the stony shore. She could smell the musk of the lake that always wore off the second her feet touched the mucky bottom in familiarity. This time she hung away, swallowing roughly as Aubrey’s boots met the far end of the dock.

Beca had a whistle in her mouth, letting the metal drop from her lips before she turned slightly on her heel. Her eyes were trained on the campers in the water, a few of them splashing around while others swam laps close to the ropes. She itched at the edge of her neck where her sweatshirt stood.

“Aubrey?” she turned completely, “Jesus dude, what happened?”

The taller woman shoved her hand down, knocking the clipboard from Beca’s grasp. The loud clang caught the attention of few, Beca glancing down before letting out a breath, her hardened eyes glowering at Aubrey. “What the hell, Posen?”

There was an immediate petal of blood the second Aubrey’s fist connected with the right side of Beca’s face. The sound was unmistakable, knuckles against bone and a string of profanities as Beca stumbled back, her shoe skidding against the edge of the dock before she caught herself- before Aubrey caught her and pulled her forward by the neck of her sweatshirt.

Emily’s throat tightened as the fond scent of rust hit her nose. She reached forward and grasped the base of Aubrey’s tank top, quickly searching for a place that wouldn’t’ wound the girl further, a dark red soaking through the pad of cotton on her shoulder.

“You’re fucking dead, Mitchell!”

“Get off of me!”

Beca struggled to push the girl’s hands away as Emily pulled back even harder to no avail. She moved her hands against the woman’s side, ducking under her arm completely to create a barrier between the head counselor and the water sports director. Her fist was raised, but her eyes quickly lightened, features softening as her lips parted and her hand dropped.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Emily shoved Aubrey back slightly “Go cool off.”

“I’m gonna-“Aubrey took a shaky breath, a step back, even “Yeah.”

She shook her head, eyes sharp as she blinked towards Beca. Aubrey drew in a breath and walked down the rest of the dock. Emily’s clouded eyes followed her frame as she departed, feet heavy and fingers clutching at the dull ache visible on her shoulder.

“What the fuck was that about?” Beca asked,  grabbing her clipboard from the wooden dock. Emily hadn’t noticed how unstable it felt. A deep shade of brick was smeared across her arm where she had struggled to steel the laceration on her cheek. An ugly shade of blue and purple was already blistering against pale skin.

“Sorry, she uh-“Emily fretted “You’re okay?”

Beca pressed her fingers close to the blood, pulling back and rubbing it between her thumb and index finger before glowering up at her. “Yeah, Em. I’m fine.”      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, the absolute angst of it all, please let me know what you think!


	12. Chapter 12

_Hey Dad,_

_I bet you’re soaking up the rays, huh? It’s not really so sunny here anymore. There’s been a lot of rain and it’s about to put Beca out of a job. Gail wouldn’t do that, though. I don’t know why I’m talking about the weather. I feel like that’s the default thing to write about when you’ve got a lot on your mind. A lot of people have picked up their kids. There are still a few left… their parents are away abroad or on a cruise._

_Love you lots,_

_Chloe._

The bathroom had an abrasive edge, the lights buzzing from the amount of artificial vision in pushed out. It was almost worse than the flies, the incessant nagging from little insects that would whizz by her ear in the heat of the day. This type of hum was consistent and transported her somewhere else.

It was like the rest stop that her parents had pulled up to on the way here: the milling scent of lavender tried to compensate for the overbearing one of bleach. The tiles were white, overbearingly so. Puke colored stalls were empty, and the mirrors were rusted at the edges, but it was a bathroom. An instant hood of chilled air that brought her back to a distorted reality.

Her sob echoed off the walls as her fingers gripped blindly at the white sink. They left little red marks where the blood hadn’t dried entirely, and she cursed herself for crying in the first place. Aubrey had been stabbed, had been so crudely attacked in the shower. All she had done was warn Gail like Paul Revere himself.

Chloe’s clothes were still damp and the sterile air bit away at them.

“ _sack up,”_ She reminded herself, digging her nails into the porcelain. Her knuckles turned white under the sheen of dried rust. It was like when she was learning how to drive. Her father told her to relax and let the car do most of the work, but Chloe still found her fingers aching at the end of every lesson. She never grew comfortable. “You’re okay. This is okay.”

Chloe would have clenched her eyes shut too if it would help. But it didn’t’.

Each time she did the image came back to her in flashes. The slick black dirt that was caked around Jane’s body looked like a hand of Gaea had reached up and palmed her with little consequence. She had frozen at some point during the night- eyes fogged over and gray. The rain had soaked through her camp shirt and the mud swam around her like clay.

She decided not to close her eyes often after that. Instead, she stared up at the ceiling and listened to the even breath of Beca sleeping across the room. It was consistent and safe. If she could hear that, then it would be okay. Eventually, she would lull into a fit of rest when the sun barely began to rise, and her cabin mate stirred herself.

Sometimes neither of them slept, just listened to the trees shift against the wind in the darkness that surrounded the cabin. Chloe tried not to look out the windows, either. Only the ceiling. A little groove in the wood that was darker than the rest.

The door had creaky hinges, shrieking like an animal that just needed to be put out of its misery. Chloe straightened up and sniffed, tempted to run her fingers under her eyes to catch the tears, but it would have been worse if she did. She could bear the crying, it was the streaks of red war paint that would undo her.  

Her eyes were dull against the harsh lighting but flashed towards the mirror, all intent tied into ducking away, scrubbing the blood from her hands and sheepishly heading back to her cabin with nothing more to do. Instead, she’s confronted with Beca. Beca Mitchel of all people.

Chloe’s heart was already singing a song of despair, but at the sight of the woman that she had pinned over for most of the summer, it picked up its speed. She wasn’t sure if the growing ache was a good or a bad thing. It wasn’t her choice to make, it seemed.

A ghastly purple welt was against the side of her cheek, stretching its darkened hands up towards her eye, like flowers begging for the taste of the sun. There was blood. Fresher than that of what was spilled against her hands. She averted her gaze for a moment, struggling to collect herself in the presence of the water instructor.

“Chloe, are you bleeding?” Beca asked.

“Not my blood.” Chloe Said.

Chloe wished that the same could be said about Beca, but it couldn’t be. That wasn’t a wound from just tripping and falling. This was something deliberate and it made a certain type of heat lick at her jaw with a melting poison.

“Did someone hurt you?” She asked, turning around as she kept her hands balanced on the sink, palms resting on the cold edge.

“Aubrey,” Beca scoffed. She shook her head and grasped hungrily at a length of towel that had been dangling. She pumped the contraption twice more before flicking on the sink. “Man, I knew she was unhinged but this?”

Beca submerged the brown paper under the water until it darkened. Chloe mulled over her thoughts, turning back to the sink as she tried to scrub away the blood that was wedged under her nails. It was all so natural, so practiced when she would run away giggling with a group of girls at a dance in an auditorium. 

“She hit you, then?” Chloe chanced a stare before going back to her task “Did you swing back?”

“Of course not. She was clearly hurt.”

Beca was a better woman than she would have been. It took a lot to push against Chloe before she finally shoved back. But Aubrey had landed a clean punch and it took resistance to not pull away and administer one herself. She couldn’t’ tell if Beca was angry at the manic actions or if she was still in shock. She simply flinched away as she pressed the cool towel against the buzzing wound.

Chloe shut off the running water and braced herself against the sink. She leaned into it, letting both hands rest on either side. “I found her this morning in the showers. Someone had attacked her. Their knife hit her shoulder. It wasn’t deep enough to hurt her too much, but she… I don’t know why I’m making excuses for her.”

“Aubrey Posen thinks I’m a killer.”

Beca shifted the towel, letting it lower. She still had an angry crimson flushing her cheek. Chloe gently took the object and lifted her chin. Beca’s midnight eyes hardened before she drew in a breath and moved onto the sink, her ankles crossing automatically. Chloe’s mother used to do this when she was stung by a bee, or when she had fallen against pavement.

“It’s why she punched me- Ow!” Beca hissed as Chloe lilted her head to the side and dabbed the wound with a light touch. “Why she cornered me in the mess hall too… I let her have it though, you know? She’s never gotten violent before. Just thinly veiled threats. Today was different.”

Chloe swallowed roughly. She dropped the towel into the trashcan and let out a deep breath. She found herself using the sink as support once more. Her palms were on either side of Beca and a question bit at her lips.

“You think I’m one too, don’t you?” The younger woman averted her gaze. She swallowed roughly and fought back the urge to kick her feet back and forth. Her lip was wedged between her teeth and her breath was hot against Chloe’s cheek. She still craved the contact, even more in this frigid bathroom.

“No, I don’t think that.” She whispered. “Things are complicated right now. Aubrey likes to point fingers and make sense of things. She always has. You’re new, her first choice.”

“And I vanish a lot?”

“And you vanish _a lot._ ”

Chloe cracked a smile, glancing up from her near leaning position. Beca was staring at the crooked painting of flowers on the wall. They were roses, three of them dawned in red. The petals were wilting but they still sat up straight in their vase.

“When I was at home, I got into some trouble.” She explained, voice little more than a whimper. “Nothing too bad. Breaking and entering, tagging. Stuff like that… I never actually hurt anyone.”

The taller girl nodded, her eyes softening. They had been here for close to a month and a half and nothing about Beca’s demeanor had shifted. She would scowl over her breakfast cereal and silently drink her beer at the end of the logs around the campfire, the flames shading her face.

“They caught me tagging some old factory that’s not even in use anymore. But it was enough for an arrest, my third one with charges. I uh… They gave me two options. Tread Lock and here.”

“The Detention center?” Chloe’s eyes widened.

 _“Yes,_ the Detention center.”

Chloe rolled her eyes but kept quiet, staring at the woman in front of her. Beca smelled like the lake, but not in a bad way. It was less of the muddy bottom and more like the way the sun reflected off of it on good days. Today wasn’t a good day, though.

“I chose here, and they assigned me with a detention officer. Wilkens… he’s not a terrible guy, just rough around the edges. We have to meet a couple times a week to fill out paperwork you know? All that legal stuff. He likes to come up here for Gail now, I’m sure.” Beca’s throat seemed to audibly tighten. “But with all this stuff, finding Jane, and Aubrey decking me square in the jaw, I don’t think finishing out my time here is an option anymore.”

“Beca,”

“No, Chloe.” She said, chest quivering. “I put myself here. I’m the one that broke into those properties and spray painted those walls. That, I will own up for. But _murdering_ a sweet innocent girl? That’s not me Chloe, that’s not-“

Beca shuddered as tears dripped from her pristine midnight eyes. Her head hung low as she brought her hand up to her nose and squeezed the bridge. Chloe wrapped her tight. She held her close, sharing the sound of her heartbeat with another.

“Jane was a good person.” Beca swallowed dryly, her words vibrated against the edge of Chloe’s throat as she pulled back and rubbed the base of her nose against her arm. Her nose was stuffed, and her eyes were red. “The first week, she didn’t’ want to get into the water at all. She just wanted to read… read this, this book about flowers and a basement?”

“Flowers in the attic, yeah. It was Emily’s.” There was a certain fondness in her glossed over eyes.

“I got her to get in the water though, you know? And I think she actually enjoyed it. Or she was just really good at faking the whole thing.”

Beca made a noise that was a mix between a laugh and a heavy sigh, Chloe’s cold fingers grasped at her chin as she used her thumb to rub away the tears on the girl’s cheek. “I didn’t’ kill her Chloe.” She repeated, “I didn’t kill her.”

“I know,” She tucked a strand of coffee hair behind Beca’s ear, pressing her forehead against her own. “I believe you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been done since Wednesday but I totally forgot to post it!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks, listen up. I know I usually put this in front of the chapters that are like this in the first place. But this is a pretty big trigger warning (There is drowning. There is a dead body).
> 
> So I need you guys to be super cautious with this. It's one of those things that I don't necessarily enjoy writing but it was essential to move the story forward - Shelby.

_Dear Dad,_

_I held Chloe until she fell asleep last night. It didn’t take much because she was exhausted. The more I think about it, the more I realize she never really got any rest. Every time I got up to meet with Gail, and with Wilkens, she was just staring at the ceiling. I thought she was a light sleeper, not burdened with the weight of what she found… hey uh, listen, I think I might be home sooner than later. Can you break the news the Shelia for me? I’m sure they’ll drag me away before she even has to see me, maybe that will help._

_Your Daughter,_

_Beca._

The water at her feet lapped against the stones until they were smooth. There were no jagged edges, and a thick type of moss grew on its underside. Beca remembers the one time she went camping with her father: He told her that if she ever got lost, she was supposed to follow the way the moss clung to the trees and clouded the ground.

Her mom told her that was never reliable, but the stars were.

Beca wicked her fingers under her t-shirt and pulled it over her head, her skin instantly prickling under the cold of the night. She sucked in a sharp breath and tossed it far enough onto the nearby docks so they wouldn’t get wet. Beca kept her shorts on, taking the first daring step into the murky water.

She cringed at the feeling of wet mud under her toes but kept walking until the water was up to her waist. It was warmer than the sky, and the stars that hung against it. Beca needed to unwind, to feel weightless if it was only for a second. The lake seemed like the only place she could collect her thoughts without drawing too much attention to herself in the moonlight.

Jane Eide was dead.

Beca had only seen one dead body in her whole entire life. Her next-door neighbor who would sometimes call her to the front porch to drink lemonade. Miss Jeffords was a kind lady who had two daughters and a son that served overseas. When Beca got old enough she would spend her summers mowing the woman’s lawn and trimming her hedges.

She had been convinced that she was a sweaty mess each time she would bring the mower to a stop and park it back in the heat trapped garage. Miss Jeffords, however, waved her off and served her all types of stories about her life before her husband passed.

Beca went to the funeral out of curtsey, and maybe to dull the hole in her chest that formed when she saw the woman’s obituary in the local paper. She waited patiently until it was her turn to walk up to the silk-lined casket. Beca had expected her eyes to be eaten by the bugs in the ground and her skin to be a sickly shade of gray to the point of distasteful zombie games: But she wasn’t. Miss Jeffords looked peaceful and Beca got to say her goodbye, however scarce.

The water lapped at her cheeks as she leaned back, letting her arms and legs stretch against the inky currents. Her hair tangled like webs spun by decadent spiders and her ears were plunged into a mute silence.

She could hear her heartbeat like a pounding snare, smell the way the earth worked with the elements around her as she floated under the yellowing moonlight. Jane wasn’t all dressed up like Miss Jeffords. She hadn’t been given the chance to pretend that the ground wasn’t about to swallow her whole.

Beca drew in a shaky breath and closed her eyes. It felt unstable, somehow. Letting the water lift her body while nothing but empty space lurked beneath her. Her pale fingers skimmed the surface of the lake, her toes curling at the sensation of calm that washed over her, cooling the welt that was below her eye and embedded in the flesh of her cheek like a brandishing. 

Chloe had told her about Flowers in the Attic. It wasn’t as pretty as it sounded, the cover not doing it much justice. A simple sprig of purple against a black varnish. It was about being trapped, hidden away due to wealth and change and everything Beca Mitchell didn’t’ need to read about, much less experience. She would have to smuggle a copy into Tread Lock if she could. See what all the hype was about.

It twisted her gut to think about where the book was now. It was Emily’s. The sweet little camper that had a fire in her eyes, the type that was near impossible to extinguish. Though, it had dimmed significantly over the past weeks like someone had set a small paper over the opening of the jar to suck all the oxygen away.

There’s a shift in the water.

It’s tiny, at first. Something that makes Beca’s fingers twitch. She twists her face into somewhat of a frown and clenches her eyes tighter. This is a lake. There are fish. She’s seen the way the kid's screech when one particularly large carp brush against their leg. Beca spent afternoons coaxing them back into the water, telling them that if it was really a monster, wouldn’t it have eaten them by now?

It wasn’t the best tactic, but it worked then, and it worked to ease her pounding heart now. Everything was fine. She focused on her breathing and the way she could hear each movement her body made against the water, against the darkness.

That very darkness quickly enveloped her in an icy bath. Beca had shot her eyes open the instant the cold water clung to her cheeks, and it burned. Not the chlorine that was in the local pool, but like tears that were pushed into something bigger. On instinct, she wanted to breath in as a sharp panic filled her.

Had she been pushed, or pulled? Beca wasn’t quite sure, but her eyes blinked up at the surface as she jolted into the cloying summer air to gasp a breath in until her lungs stopped burning. She coughed, the water dripping down her feathers as she rubbed her eyes clear of the substance, her breath the only thing she could hear as she scanned the surface of the lake. Nothing.

It was her imagination, she was sure. She had drifted into a fitful mix between alertness and sleep. This time she wasn’t awakened by the stray throw of an inflatable ball, however. It must have been the sharp pull of the vegetation at the floor of the body of water. Something that made her contemplate wading back to the docks.

She blew out the water in her nose, struggling not to choke on the rancid taste as she shook her head. The solitude of the camp was doing something to her. Had to be.

Then there were hands on her shoulders, strong and sure, and pushing her under the water with such purpose she supposed her collarbone would snap. It was holding her so close to the surface that her fingers could touch the open air. She thrashed, tried to make noise but the water silenced her.

There was nothing around her, and Beca struggled to hold her breath for as long as she could. She used to have competitions with her best friend in third grade. Her mom warned her to stay close to the ladder, so they did, holding onto the metal and dunking themselves under water, making stupid faces until the other let out a noise and broke, swimming to the surface.   

She wasn’t sure if her eyes were open or closed anymore, the darkness billowing in as she sprung up against the fighting arms and dragged in the biggest gulp of breath she could muster before being plunged back down. This wasn’t a game, this was a test of survival and she was being shoved face first into the mucky bottom of the lake.

Beca kicked and rolled in the water as much as she could, not one for perception as she started hitting towards anything of substance. Her fingers grasped at fabric that had been drenched, and knuckles came skin-splittingly hard against a sturdy set of boned ribs. They let up then, the grip on her shoulders loosening enough for her to spring up once more, her lungs on fire and her heart drowning out the sound of the splashing.

She couldn’t see, couldn’t catch her breath as she lunged forward. Towards the danger was never something she would actually do, but in this case, her claws were bared and a fit of sharp anger licked at the side of her mind. Would Aubrey Posen stoop this low in her pent-up rage? Her heated revenge.

Beca’s fingers hit raw skin and the stranger hissed as she blinked the muddy tears from her eyes. She coughed and choked and sobbed. Her mind had no way of reeling itself in as she let out something that was as close to a scream as she could get. It tore at her throat as her fingers tore at the stranger. The _very_ tangible thing in front of her that had made an attempt on her life with little regard.

And then she was alone. The crickets had stopped their melodic chirping and her breath pushed into the air in little clouds that made her nose run and her chest sting. Dusky eyes swept that of the expanse, and she saw nothing, heard nothing but her own racing mind.

Beca pulled herself onto the shore, her legs like rubber as she collapsed against the smooth rocks and collected herself. Her knuckles were coated in mud, every inch of herself was buzzing as her mind raced. Drowning, she thought, was not the way to go.

She wondered if their skin was still under her nails as she shook and pulled on the mostly dry shirt that rested on the docks, willing herself to walk, to push forward with a type of vigor that must give moms the bout of strength to life a car off their children.

Her fingers are shaking, and she isn’t quite sure if she feels them anymore.

Beca has never breathed out to the point of forgetting before. Forgetting how to exist and the way her bare feet feel against the force of shoving them into her sneakers while they were still wet. Her dusky eyes flashed against all aspects of the lake. The cabin. She could go back to the cabin. Back to familiarity and back to Chloe.

She walked with all intention, her feet squelching in her shoes as lake water dripped from her hair and into her shirt in an ugly stain that reminded her of a therapist. _What do you see here, Rebeca?_ And she would squint at the black ink blot on a piece of card stock and pretend she didn’t see an endless void. _A butterfly and the sun_ Beca would respond, even if it was nothing of the sorts.

Beca could smell the curt smokiness of the cigar smoke before she realized that there were headlights cutting across the foggy quad of the camp. The buildings, the mess hall and the little coat closet that contained a singular phone was dim. The crickets still not chirping, but an engine purred and exhumed some type of toxin.

She had never been so happy to see that beat up El Dorado in her whole entire life. Even if Wilkens was bringing himself all the way up the mountain to handcuff her and drag her to a correctional facility. Tread Lock suddenly seemed like a better option, her heart still pounding in her ears.

Beca stalled at the way the car hummed, the way the driver door was propped open and a soft rock song blasted from the speakers. It crackled and hissed, and even echoed against the empty space as she stood between the headlights and squinted at the dirty windshield. Beca could barely make out the voices of Ozzy Osbourne and Lita Ford over her own heartbeat.

_If I close my eyes forever, will it all remain the same?_

“Fuck,” Beca caught the same scent of tobacco and blood lift from the air as she rounded the car. Her heart pounded against the inside of her wrist, her stomach clenching as her fingers found the fabric. Maybe if she pressed hard enough, she wouldn’t empty her meal of lake water on the gravel drive.

_If I close my eyes forever, will it all remain unchanged?_

Wilken’s had a glassy look in his eye, like a doll cleanly polished and positioned in a display case. He almost looked calm, one of his hands against the wheel while the other hung limply to the side.

_You're like a dagger, and stick me in the heart_

A blade had been so easily against his throat, spilling a curtain of red so prominent that ancient Greek Gods would beg for the color to be turned into cloth and primed. His white button-down was soaked. Had he pressed the horn? Had he tried to sound for help?

_And taste the blood from my blade_

A new form of nausea clawed at Beca’s throat as her fingers left unruly prints on the side of the car. She tried to force down the bile, tried to keep it back before she hunched over and released the contents of her stomach, tears flushing against her cheeks. She spit, breathing past the burning sensation in her throat.

_And when we sleep, would you shelter me in your warm and darkened grave? If I cl-“_

“Shit.” Beca swallowed, reaching blindly against the radio as she flicked off the awful song, instantly regretting the silence that washed over her as she choked back a sob “Fucking hell.”

The gun, a gun, she remembers from the drive up here. Wilken’s had been content with traveling in near silence when he first picked her up at the start of the summer. He would flick off the stereo and scoff three times before shooting her a glare that warned her against anything else. Beca had played with everything in the car: getting bored of the mirror in the visor and heading for the glove box instead. He snapped it shut fast enough to take her fingers with it.

“Was that a gun?”

“Yeah.”

“Why does a probation officer have a gun?”

“Don’t make me use it. Stop touching things.”

It was an empty threat. The kind that her father used to shout at her before slamming the door and going back to grading whatever papers he had assigned that week. Neither of them would ever do anything, hoping that it would strike some type of fear into Beca.

Regardless, she chanced one last stare at Wilkens and reached against his cold and damaged torso. She popped the glove compartment over and was met with the same simple automatic handgun that nearly fell into her lap. It was weighted. It was loaded.

She pulled out of the car completely before another wave of pain edged at her stomach. With ease, she checked the safety and shoved the tip of it into the waistband of her pants. Wilkens’ would have yelled at her if he could. Would have lit another cigar and blown the toxic puff of air in her face.  

“I’m so sorry,” She croaked out, flicking the El Dorado's engine off completely.

No one did.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was not a lot of dialogue at all in this chapter. A lot of description so I seriously applaud you if you got through it. I almost didn't. Also, I turn 20 tomorrow and just got home from getting a tattoo and... that shit hurted.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was by far the hardest to write, and it happens to be the last of the letters from these girls too! The next five chapters are rough. But I'm sticking it out, so I would love to see what you guys think of this!

_Dear Mom,_

_I’m ready to come home. It’s not like that achy feeling of missing you guys, that’s not it. You know what dad says “if you miss someone a little, then it’s not worth missing them a lot." sometimes the stuff he says comes back to me like that. I remember when he taught me how to throw a proper punch. That stuck with me too, I suppose… don’t get me wrong. I met someone here. I think you would approve- she’s very kind and patient and- neither of us wants to be here. Not anymore._

_Aubrey M. Posen._

Aubrey wasn’t the type of person to hungrily press her lips against those of another. She certainly wouldn’t slam someone against the wall and let her fingers trail under the hem of their shirt. Not the type of girl to bite at a woman’s jaw and leave little welts of purple and black peppered close to soft skin.

Emily moaned into her mouth, the sound stifled and hot as she bucked her hips closer to Aubrey’s touch, her starved yet gentle motions. She had easily undone the button to Emily’s jeans, just as easily pinning her close to the wall. It was desperate, a sharp release that both women craved.

“Fuck, Bree” It almost edged her on, the way Emily writhed and grunted out her name as she moved against her fingers. Her nails dug evenly into Aubrey’s skin, sure to leave marks. Aubrey smiled into the embrace, nipping slightly at Emily’s pulse point as it sounded loudly. Emily knit her fingers into the woman’s hair, pulling in a mix of pleasure and pain. “Please.”

Emily whimpered into Aubrey’s neck, tightening in every aspect of herself as she brought her free hand up to her lips- stifling a string of profanities that would never normally fall from her lips. Aubrey kept her pressure, kept her tempo as Emily bit into the palm of her hand hard enough to drain color. She shuddered entirely, the effect dizzying as she let Aubrey hold most of her weight, an undeniable smile on her lips.

Emily let out a long breath, her heart dominating as she struggled to catch her composure and some sense of herself. Aubrey feeling an instant twinge of regret as she pulled her fingers away from the most intimate part of the girl. She felt like a bad person.

Aubrey swallowed away the dry copper taste in her mouth as she shifted her hand to the vacant space above Emily’s shoulder. In any other situation, she would be proud of the flushed look on the woman’s face as she tried to collect herself. “Are we sick people?”

“What?” Emily panted, glancing down for a moment as she fumbled with the copper button on her jeans.

The area around them was bathed in inky darkness- a tool shed that had been converted enough to hold the jet skis when no one was handling them. Aubrey and Beca were the only two in the entire camp that held access to the place. She had lead Emily here at the start of the night for some peace and quiet, something to still both of their minds. One thing leads to another and Aubrey had pinned the girl so easily against the wooden door. It barely made a sound.

“Someone died. I was attacked, and now we’re fucking in a tool shed.”

“Oh,” Emily’s eyes flickered with an intense sadness as she darted her stare down to the wooden boards of the space. There was a lingering silence, the sound of their breathing mixing among two jet skis and a net for fishing that hung against the wall. Emily giggled, laughed, loudly as Aubrey contorted her expression into some type of frown.

“I’m sorry,” Emily sniffed, trying to gain control of herself. “I mean, yeah. Yeah, it’s fucked. I don’t mean to laugh. It’s just… I guess grief has a way of bringing people together, you know?”

Aubrey did know. She felt like there must have been a better way than this, whatever this was. The pain, the pleasure, the solace of a camp like this, it was all getting to her. She wondered idly if it would be the same when she left in a week if Emily would write to whatever college she decided to go to. If they would finally see the reports on the news.

Emily let out a deep sigh, lowering herself to the platform that the red jet ski rested upon. It looked like a monster covered in a black tarp like it was. Something that would morph into a beast with glowing red eyes if Aubrey stared long and hard enough. Emily looked effortlessly at ease, though. She hugged her jacket close, sniffed as Aubrey watched.

“My parents split up.” Aubrey suddenly blurted out, and Emily flashed her dark eyes forward. They seemed to grow lighter. “When I was seventeen. Which, you know, happens. I get it. They fell out of love. Too many things changed.”

The older woman took a steadying breath, trying to focus her words. “I got home from school one day and they were both sitting on the couch in the living room. My mom had made little sandwiches and kept sweet tea on the table, and I thought that was odd because I hadn’t seen either of them in the same room for months… years maybe. We didn’t’ do family dinners.

“My father, he was a gruff man, an army man. And he had this soft look in his eyes when he told me that it was over between them. That they hadn’t been happy in a long time and were trying to stay together for the sake of me. For my brothers, but they just couldn’t’ anymore. They weren’t happy, and I understand that now.”

Emily swallowed thickly and nodded, her brow furrowed with that little crease that Aubrey found adorable and she listened intently.

“Anyway, after they told me that, I stormed out of the house and they let me… didn’t’ try to stop me or anything. I ended up at the movie theatre and I sat in the very back and cried during the loud parts so no one could hear” She let out a something of a bitter laugh, “Long story short I had my first kiss in the bathroom of a Cinemark with the guy who was in charge of making popcorn.”

Aubrey tried to pay attention to Emily’s facial expressions, but she couldn’t’ read them in the dark. Not with the way the moonlight only moved through the spare cracks of the little shed. She wanted to drink until she forgot, or fuck until she remembered. She wasn’t sure. Neither of them was.

“Did he taste like butter?”

“what?”

“The guy, did he taste like butter?”

The older woman laughed loudly, shaking her head “Yeah, actually, he kind of did.”

She vaguely recalled the taste of cherry coke, and the paper towel dispenser digging into her spine. She liked this a lot better- she liked pinning Emily to the wall. Emily didn’t taste like burnt popcorn, instead, she held the flavor of vanilla and warmth. That’s what Aubrey needed right now. Warmth.

She leaned down, pressing a deep kiss against Emily’s lips as the younger of the two let out a surprised groan, quickly curling her fingers into Aubrey’s golden hair, pulling with just the right amount of pressure.

“Do you smell gas?” Emily murmured against her lips, breath hot and dominating.

“hmm?” Aubrey stilled in her movements, pulling her touch away briefly as she glanced around the tiny shed. Did she? Right now, she could mainly catch Emily’s shampoo. But there was a damning scent that reminded her of a gas station. She remembered her father trying to teach her how to pump petrol, and then quickly saying that when she was married, she would never have to utilize this skill. “Yeah, kind of.”

Emily nodded, shrugging her shoulders as she nipped lightly at Aubrey’s lower lip and let out a breathy sigh. “No, seriously, I smell gas. That’s not weird to you?”

“You’re leaning against a jet Ski, darling,” Aubrey said in a hushed growl, pushing her nose close to the girl’s cheek. “If it eases your mind, we can leave. Go back to the cabin and get some rest?”

Emily contemplated her options for a second before smiling meekly and standing from the platform. She curled her fingers around Aubrey’s and lead her into the damp night. She could smell the lake and feel the subtle touch that Emily had to offer. It was not at all rushed, not at all dominating. It was soft.

Then there was heat. A heat that was undeniable and loud. The kind of thing that starts from the middle and expands- like a nuclear blast. Aubrey had read somewhere that an explosion could ring with enough force to leave chemical prints on the sidewalk.

They were standing in the grass, on the banks of a lake.

Emily drew in a breath sharp enough to cut through the air. Aubrey yelped and raised her arms against the wave of shaking sound that pushed forward. The scent of fuel ringing through the air as the wet grass took precedence under her knees.

Aubrey’s ears were hissing with warmth, heart pounding.

She had the air knocked out of her with a force unimaginable, her cheek pressed against the moisture filled grass, she tasted the dirt. “Holy fuck,” She couldn’t hear herself, a garbled mess of words “Fuck.”

Aubrey tasted metal that reminded her of when she would tongue her keys. It had started out as a convenient way to keep her hands full on the way to her car, but it had turned into a nervous habit. She knew it wasn’t healthy, but it never stopped her from doing it.

“Bree,” Emily choked next to her, digging her fingers into the soft soil “Aubrey, my god, are you alright?”

The older of the two let out a strangled cough and turned her attention towards the flames. It ate against the wood, completely devoured it from the inside out. There was no little shack, nothing but a pile of forming ash that filled the air with its toxic grey smog. Emily groaned and rolled onto her back, blinking up at the night sky.

“Did that-?”

“Yeah, fuck. You alright?”

“I asked you first.” Emily said.

“I think.” Aubrey scoffed, ever the smartass, even with her lungs steadily filling with flames, she nodded. Her body felt like lead, her mind running faster than lava. She vaguely heard Emily let out a string of curse words to her left, hissing, growling.

“My leg is fucked,”

Aubrey blinked a few times, almost like it would clear her hearing. She shot her stare towards Emily. Her usually calm features were coated in an even edge of dirt, crimson leaking onto the smooth expanse of her cheek. Aubrey couldn’t tell if it was from a cut, or from her ears. Her focus shifted to woman’s hands. Shaking as they clenched a crimson wound. It soaked into the wicking fabric. Emily’s blood wasn’t as bright as hers. It was thicker. It was dominating. If she rolled her pant leg up, Aubrey was sure, she would see bone.

“Oh god, it’s bad, isn’t it?” Emily’s cheeks flushed red “You’re green. And when you turn green then I know it’s bad- my mom turned green when she stopped to help a dog out of a bear trap once when we were camping. And Stacie was green yesterday when she saw your shoulder-“

Aubrey tuned the rest of her frantic rambling out. It was something that calmed Emily down, just the sensation of talking, even if no one was listening to their full extent. Aubrey had realized that a while ago and still found it charming. Even as she peeled her sweat soaked bandanna from her hair. It was a deep forest green. Aubrey began to miss other colors, like purple.

Emily let out a slight squeak that seemed to silence her completely as Aubrey tied the rolled fabric a few inches away from the wound. The tourniquet would slow the blood, at least for now, but she wasn’t sure if Emily could even keep pressure on it. “I’ll have to stitch you up.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Emily, that is… really bad.” Aubrey tried to put as delicately as possible. “You should be fine, but we have to stop the bleeding, yeah? Away from here.”

Emily got that little crease between her eyebrows as she frowned towards the burning wreckage of the shed. She couldn’t’ make out anything past the rubble and the slowly dying fire. It smelt like the little circle they formed during their first night- but with less drunken mistakes. She could pour a bucket of cold water on those, but this was different. This was suffocating.

She helped Emily to her feet, the girl letting out a few whimpers here and there as Aubrey tested her own weight on her wobbly stance. “We’ll get you to Chloe. She’ll keep you safe until I can get back.”

“What?” Emily’s voice was tight “No. Wherever you go, I can go with you. I’m fine. You shouldn’t be alone.”

Aubrey studied her face. It was shaded by the orange glow of the fire. She let out a steady sigh and moved her thumb against the girl’s cheek. It was wet with tears, mixed with blood. It looked lighter now. More like Aubrey’s.

“I need to get Gail, darling. You can barely stand right now, much less make it up that hill. You’re going to Chloe’s cabin.” Her voice was stern, stern enough for Emily to contemplate her options before she tested her weight and winced. Aubrey knew she had her. Those pools of honey in her eyes pained yet understanding.

“I can’t lose you, Bree. I can’t lose anyone else.”

“You won’t.” Aubrey nudged her forehead against Emily’s, breathing in the sickening scent of vanilla mixed with ash. Everything was coppery. Everything was buzzing. “I promise. You won’t.”          


	15. Chapter 15

**The blood seemed** to lose all warmth in the nighttime air. Emily had imagined it differently- not that she could see an explosion in her near future. But when her fifth-period chemistry class would drag on, and she would stare out the window, she thought about it: How would she get out if fire filled the halls? What would she do if the news vans whipped out their cameras and started reporting on a gas leak then and there?

Emily knew she would try and play the hero, try to fight through her fear and get that strange burst of energy that gave mothers the ability to lift cars off their children. But right now? Right now, Emily just was struggling to catch her breath against the cloying summer heat. Her skin was irritated and burning. And the blood that seeped from the wound on her leg weighed down the fabric. It was numb now.   

She got stitches when she was six.

She was standing on a chair, trying to get something down from a higher cabinet when her little brother came barreling around the corner. She remembered the way she wobbled, and the seizing feeling in her chest before her forehead hit the corner of the counter. The blood was warm then, and she was expecting it to be warm now, but it wasn’t. Why wasn’t it?

Emily drew in a breath as she tried to apply a certain amount of pressure to her leg. She hissed but pulled herself along the path that had the fortune of being lit by the ever-waning moon. It comforted her- the fact that she could see where she was going. But if she could see her own hands in front of her face, then everyone could see her now. Limping and vulnerable, and the invasive thoughts that Aubrey seemed to quiet came flooding in more than ever.

Her throat was burning, and she wasn’t sure if she remembered screaming or not. The frozen terror still clung to her veins, but did she scream? Did she have the capacity to give the person who ignited the flame that satisfaction? She hoped not.

Another one ripped through the air and her veins cooled off. She stood up straight, as straight as she could before darting her stare in the general direction of the shout. It wasn’t Aubrey- she hoped it wasn’t Aubrey. It was in the pure opposite direction. The cabins.

The wood creaked at a deafening level the second Emily stepped onto the only vacant one left. She desperately wished her mother had read her letters- had rescued her and Aubrey from a desolate camp, for her sake if not theirs. But it was silent. No written explanation, no call of worry. Out of character, completely. There was a dull light seeping past the screen door.

“Jesus fuck, oh my god.” The words were jumbled and hushed.

It gave Emily enough cause to push the door open, both girls pulled their attention feverishly towards the noise. Chloe was sitting on the edge of her bed, panting, fingers against her throat and tears streaking down her cheeks. Beca was knelt in front of her, hand on her knee, soaked and doused in mud. A gun was peaking out of the back of her jeans- lips blue from the frigid cold.

“You uh,” Emily swallowed thickly “You have a gun?”

Chloe’s sharked eyes moved towards Beca, but she still didn’t’ speak. A crease formed between her brows and she sniffed. Her hair was wet too, but not like Beca’s. Not in the cold stringy way. It was intentional and Emily kept her back against the wall of the cabin. Half for a hasty escape, the other part of her needed to keep the weight away from her leg.

Beca sniffed and stood to her full height, staring towards Emily, her golden shift covered in muck and blood. It was hard to tell the difference between the two. “Despite everything, Emily. I’m worried about my safety. Insurance. What happened to you?” 

Emily clenched her jaw and looked towards Chloe. The comforting aura that she carried was still there, if not muted. Not for a second did she ever feel danger around Beca. But right now, with a pistol tucked into the back of her jeans, she wasn’t so sure.

“I was in the shed by the lake. Someone tried to blow it up.”

“For fuck's sake,” Beca hissed, earning a hard stare from Chloe “No, no really. What else can go wrong? Someone tried to _blow you up.”_

Emily snorted and shook her head. Nothing seemed to settle in this camp, not since they had found Jane. It was a trigger, something that created levels of hell that kept worsening. Pushing far enough to feel the pain of every single person willing to stay within its walls.

Beca settled and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I was in the lake, and someone tried to drown me. Held me in the water until I could fight him off.”

“ _Him?_ ” Chloe’s voice was hissing, strangled as she winced in pain. 

“Yeah, yes. I think so… It sure as hell felt like one.”

Chloe nodded and lowered her fingers. There was a sharp purple bruise forming in the shape of a line against her porcelain skin. It was reddened and marked like an ink had been drawn so easily. Emily didn’t’ stand to ask what happened, a thick metallic taste filling her mouth as dread wore thin.  

“Beca, that doesn’t explain the gun.”

She looked between the two girls, hoping for mercy. But Chloe lifted a simple brow and Emily dug her nails into the grooved wood. She couldn’t feel the gash against her leg anymore. It didn’t burn- instead, it was numb.

“I have been meeting with my probation officer every week for the past month and a half. He’s dead now. Throat slit in his car- while I was being drowned.” Her stare darkened, voice lowering significantly “There are two of them.”

“So, you took his gun?” Chloe asked, and Beca nodded.

Emily shifted her stare “This is insane… I-I don’t understand why any of this is happening. Why are we being targeted?”   

“Revenge, maybe.” Beca suggested, “I know if I was hell-bent on murder, I would do it for revenge.”

“Or love.”

“Or love.” Beca parroted Chloe with a hefty nod of the head.

Emily could imagine that- the force of love driving you to do something so heinous. She remembers reading something during her class trip to the city capital in transitional school. Crimes of passion had their own section in the giant law book that sat outstretched on a stone podium. It had too much dust and the words were fading, but she could still read it. Most crimes were committed for the sake of emotion, one extreme to the other.

“Two star-crossed lovers wreaking havoc on a camp of awaiting victims,” Emily mumbled under her breath, blinking as she stared at a spot on the floor. It looked like a face. “Just luring us in and picking us off one by one, well, attempting to, at least.”

Beca shifted, her damp clothes clinging to her “Lay off the murder mysteries, Em.”

“It _doesn’t_ matter who is doing all of this. We’re not Nancy Drew.” Beca drew in a sharp breath and Chloe pointed a finger “or the Hardy boys. Understand? We need to find a way to get out of this camp without any of us dying.”

“It can’t be that hard. How far is the camp from the main road?” Beca asked.

“Too far, maybe fifteen miles. And with Emily on that leg of hers.”

“Great.” Emily sighed heavily, “Just great.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive, I promise. But I'm so damn busy with everything. This will still be the first actual book I finish, so be prepared. Also, sorry this is mostly dialogue, but it's important.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chloe understood that** old buildings creaked. Her father used to be an architect, a traveling one that would appreciate the crown moldings of a ranch-style house. They lived in many southern towns before he decided to retire and settle down, but she remembered the nights when the walls groaned, and the floorboards hummed like a heart was hammered beneath them.

That’s why she didn’t’ worry when she heard the creaking. A creaking she was so familiar with. The floors hissed when Beca would shift out of her bed and try to sneak out. She used to be so careful at first- so diligent that she would stop each time it made a noise. Cautiously peaking over her shoulder at Chloe and biting her lip.

Chloe pretended to be asleep but would silently stare at the ceiling and fight with herself on if she should follow the counselor or not. After a few weeks, she gave up completely and ended up sleeping through the noises the cabin made, because it was impossible. Beca would tell her when she wanted to, and she did.

She shifted against the mirror that was hung close to the back of the closet. It was dark, but she could see enough to run the brush through her damp hair. The knots ripped, but it wasn’t enough to cause any pain. The floor creaked again. The wind. The structure settling.

“Beca?” She glanced around. Nothing.

Chloe used to pull her blankets up to her chin, swearing to heaven and back that the noises in the attic were in fact footfalls of a ghost wracked with chains and vendetta. Her dad, he sat at the end of the bed and would explain away every single noise. And that’s what she could do now, ignore it. Focus on getting ready for bed.

Turning around, she knelt, searching through the mostly unpacked duffel bag for the hairdryer. Aubrey hated when she used it, too loud for the solace of the woods. She kept her wits about her and pushed the blonde as much as she could- but where was it? Maybe she had finally snapped and threw it in the closet that only she had the key to.

The cord wrapped close to her neck in a quick second. More creaking, a sharp heat close to her back as Chloe let out a surprised yelp and let her fingers move quickly to the length. It dug into her skin, stinging like a bee after getting too close to a pollen-filled flower. She was pulled back onto her back, the cold wood aching against her spine.

Chloe kicked her feet, trying to drag in the last bit of strawberry scented air that her shampoo provided. Her fingers moved from the cord around her neck to the black-gloved hands that were pulling it back- their boots thudded as her vision sparkled. They were walking towards the door, breath frantic and nearly cut off entirely.

Her lungs burned as she fought the urge to scream, a warmth moving against exposed skin. Everything smelled metallic. Blood? Her consciousness fading? Everything was growing dark- the lights that hung above them slowly growing warmer in color.

“What the hell?!”

She thought those were words, something. They were garbled, but the pressure against her neck was suddenly released. Chloe coughed, dragging in burning breathes as she flipped onto her stomach. She could feel the grooves of the wood against her forehead, eyes clenched shut as she tried to regain herself.

The sound of shaking walls hits her first, a picture frame falling and shattering into what seems like a million pieces. Her bloodshot eyes move quickly, flashing and blurry. Beca is shoved against the wall, a large figure dressed in pitch like the gloves. They struggled against one another as Beca lifted her leg and pinned her knee against the attacker’s stomach. They drew back, doubling over. She slammed down once more.

“What do you want? Huh?” Beca hissed, a string of blood moving down a sterile slice in her lower lip. “Who the hell are you?”

The figure panted, shifting their head to the side before shoving forward as Beca’s back slammed into the wall, the cabin once more shaking in something other than settlement. They shoved past her, pushing the screen door open with a clang before bolting against the dewy grass.

Chloe coughed once more, curling into herself as her fingers pressed close to the flooring. Beca was quickly on her knees- warm hands against cold skin. “Oh my god,” She turned Chloe slightly, staring into her eyes. “Can you hear me?”

She wasn’t sure if she could or not- sure, Beca’s words were registering, and she looked a bit heavenly with the fluorescent light blocked out by her damp hair. But she couldn’t’ understand anything. Chloe Beale couldn’t shake the cold feeling of death that rushed through her because of a stupid hair dryer.

Her throat burned and she struggled to swallow, turning completely on her back as the cold of the flooring seeped through her shirt. Beca was practically straddling at her at this point, moving her fingers against Chloe’s jawline with worry in her eyes.

“You probably can’t talk,” Beca realized, voice a low whisper “God, I can’t… can you nod if you can understand me?”

Chloe furrowed her brow and nodded, dragging another long breath past her lips. Her whole body ached. It felt like the first time she got blackout drunk. It was with her friend, Anna, the girl was a bad influence and she sees that now- but when she was in her 8th year and started dog sitting for her neighbor, of course, she hadn’t.

They found a bottle of Fireball in the freezer, the glass frosty. She could swear the golden retriever was judging them as they unscrewed the red cap with devious smiles on their faces. They would only drink half, Anna said, fill it up with water and maybe some food coloring if it looked too clear.

She woke up the next morning and the whole bottle was empty. She had thrown up on the floor and Anna had left the house without a word. Her body ached then, and she had apologized to Miss Montgomery and paid to get her carpet cleaned. She never dog sat again.

“You’re,” Chloe squeezed out, tears welling at the corners of her eyes “crushing my spleen.”

“Oh, oh fuck, sorry.”

Beca pulled herself off quickly and rose to her feet. Chloe got a good look at her then: Her hair was a mess, a mix between blood and muck. Clothes torn and soaked with darkness. She was clenching her rips, her knuckles equally splattered with color that was a sharp contrast to her pale skin. Still, she took the hand that was outstretched to her, letting Beca lead her to the edge of her bed.

The younger girl knelt in front of her with a look of utmost worry on her features. She kept a warm hand on her knee, staring up at cloudy blue eyes. She had black dirt under her nails, her touch was subtle, yet all the more comforting. Chloe kept her fingers against her throat, trying to ease the throbbing her throat. The hair dryer was tangled on the floor.

“Did you see who it was?” She asked, almost timidly.

Chloe shook her head as tears pressed against her eyes. “Hood.”

Beca nodded gingerly. The figure had a dark sweatshirt on and was careful enough with their movements to always shade their face. She barely got a glimpse before her vision started to fade out, and then before they slammed Beca against the wall. The younger girl had a better chance of seeing them did she did.

“Right, alright.” Beca stood, running her hands through her damp hair. “we have to leave. We have to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

That seemed like the obvious statement, but Chloe’s chest still tightened. How could this place not be safe? She had held her moms’ hand when she was herded onto the bus the first time. She met Aubrey here and learned how to swim. She had her first kiss under the docks and her first beer around the campfire. Camp Beaverbrook was always safe until it wasn’t anymore.

Beca’s hands were shaking and Chloe watched her carefully. “Jesus fuck, oh my god.”

The door pushed open and Chloe stiffened completely, Beca reaching for the hem of her pants, and the gun- the gun that she was so hasty to conceal. Chloe hadn’t noticed it at first, yet she didn’t’ feel the same amount of fear that she would expect.

Emily Junk looked like hell.

Her hair was windblown and thick blood soaked through the fabric of her pants. She was leaning heavily against the doorframe out of necessity, Chloe assumed. There were thin lines against her cheeks where tears had washed away soot.

 “You uh,” Emily swallowed thickly “You have a gun?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so... I am stressed. Like big time, but I'm alive and still writing this! Tell me what you guys think. We're so close to the end.


	17. Chapter 17

**The moonlight filled** Cabin number eight like flowing water. It rippled with the sheer white curtains and shaded the room in a mix of a deep glow. Beca couldn’t’ help but stare at the puddle of muddy blood that Emily had left on the floorboards. She was sitting at the edge of the bed now, staring down at the wound as it would magically seal itself up if she glared long and hard enough.

Chloe was shaking and Beca was silent. Her head was spinning, and her clothes were wet. Somehow that was the only thing that registered: her clothes were soaked, and she was numb and smelled like stagnant lake water. Wilken’s was dead. She was as good as dead. And Emily’s blood wasn’t as dark as his.

“What are we going to do?” Chloe choked out, her voice deep and raspy. She clenched her fingers around her neck. The bruise had grown into a swampy green. It made her mouth dry. “It’s three against two.”

“Four,” Emily mumbled from the bed, having laid back on the hard mattress. “Aubrey went to the headmasters cabin if she-“

“F-four against two.”  Chloe cut her off and Emily looked grateful for the interruption. Her own words had tightened to the same degree that Beca felt in her chest.  

Beca reached down instinctively and placed her hand against the back of the girl’s neck. It was cold, just like her touch was. She hoped that it was in some way comforting because comfort was what both of them needed right now- but she couldn’t tell. She didn’t’ have the energy to ponder it. 

She was cold to the bones. The blood that flowed through her veins seemed to be devoid of warmth and she wasn’t sure if it had something to do with the muck-filled water she had been dunked into or the chilly air. Maybe even the fact that a psycho killer was stalking their every move.

“Did you take his keys?” Emily finally asked, staring unblinkingly up at the ceiling. Her fingers wicked into the fabric of her shirt and her eyes clouded over in something that was number to pain. “Your officer- did you take his keys?”

 _No._ She hadn’t. The thought didn’t’ even cross her mind to snatch them from the ignition. Her thoughts flashed back to the drive up here and how there was a lucky white rabbits’ foot that jingled the further they traveled up the mountain. She was sure it was stained a peachy pink now.

She finally settled on saying “They’re still in the ignition.”  

“We should get them,” Chloe said slowly, voice still filled with a rasp. Tears pinched at the corners of her steely gaze and she refused to lower her fingers away from the throbbing bruise. “If they’re still there, we can get down the mountain. Get to some help.”

Beca nodded and tried to not dwell on the fact that she had been so neglectful in the first place. The keys were more important than the gun. It was like the choice of an ethic that she had to answer in her debate class: _If your probation officer is murdered and you have time to grab one thing from his car- would you choose his keys or his weapon?_

She sucked at debate.

Beca wanted to object. Wanted to curl up under the cheap covers and warm her skin until she could begin to feel it again, but she knew there was no other option. They needed to get to civilization. Maybe that small gas station that they stopped at for jerky and a bottle of water that Wilken’s insisted they share, and she denied. It would just taste like chewing tobacco. She almost wanted to laugh at the fact that a blade was what did him in instead of side effects from his dirty vices. Almost.

Her grip tightened against the back of Chloe’s neck as the girl instinctively wrapped her own fingers around her wrist, pulling her closer. She smelled sweet against the musty edge of the cabin. The door creaked open, Emily forcing herself to sit up as she dug her fingers into the mattress, blood soaking past the pristine white sheets.

Aubrey Posen looked like she had brought the third plague with her: soot was smeared against her porcelain skin, the pad that was protecting her shoulder from fallen blood was soaked through, the brownish color seeping into the fabric of her shirt. Dirt was under her nails and her fingers curled into her palms on instinct.

It took three seconds for her to register everything around her. Eyes sweeping tenderly from Emily, to Chloe, and then landing with sullen intent on Beca and the gun wedged into her waistband.  There was a certain rage behind her red-rimmed stare. Something that pricked at the back of her mind. Beca had seen that look once or twice before but it was usually when she fucked up bad enough to spend the night in the drunk tank with a few other kids.   

Aubrey let out a growl, pushing forward with such rage that Emily forced herself to stand, hissing in pain as her leg nearly buckled under the weight. Her fingers ghosted over the woman’s shirt, not quite grasping it. Beca reached for the gun.

It clicked under her thumb as she pointed it like she had wielded a weapon of its caliber before, when in fact, she hadn’t. “STOP!” She shouted, keeping it even as Aubrey halted in her tracks, jaw clenched. “Seriously, one more step-“

“And what? You’ll shoot me?” her voice crackled.

“Aubrey-“

“No, Emily. It’ll just confirm what we all knew anyway. She’s a killer, a cold-blooded killer. She’s the only one with a gun around here.” Aubrey said, keeping her eyes on Beca as she slowly raised her hands in the air. “So, go ahead, Mitchell. _Shoot me._ ” 

“No one is shooting anyone!” Chloe stood from her seat on the bed, albeit shakily. Her words were as clear as they could be, her stance strong as she looked between the two girls. Beca adjusted her grip on the gun. “We’re already fucked as it is. There’s no way we’re getting Emily down this mountain unless we’re all _alive_ and in that car. Put the gun down.”

“She came at me,-“

“Put the gun down.”

This time she was careful enough to push Beca’s hand to her side, the weapon dropping with it, gaping at the floorboards instead. Aubrey let a considerable amount of tension drain from her body and Emily fell into her, maybe from the weight kept on her leg, or out of pure relief. She pressed her nose against the nave of the woman’s neck, biting back a sob as Aubrey kept her glare steady, but moved to comfort her.

“Gail is dead.” She spoke, “Shot point blank between the eyes like it was some kind of mercy killing. She can’t help us, not anymore.”

“Then we stick to the plan,” Beca shoved the gun back into her waistband, pushing her fingers into her jean pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking. Her breath doing the same. “We get to the car, and we get the _fuck_ out of Camp Beaverbrook.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was a wild ride, huh? I'm sorry about the absence, life has been a little hectic but for some reason, I started watching the old Goosebumps series and it got me back into the campy mood. Let me know what you guys think!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head's up... I"m sorry. Also, I reference sleepaway camp in this chapter which is an insane movie but also a huge reason that I started writing this in the first place. So, if you ever want some campy gross horror I highly recommend it. It's a classic!

**Emily’s grasp was** thick and domineering. Bloodied fingers dug into her side hard enough to leave little purple moons against clammy skin. Aubrey didn’t mind too much- she figured that was a good sign. Maybe she hadn’t lost too much blood. Maybe the fact that she was so cold wasn’t due to a slowly flickering flame- maybe it was just the frigid weather.

The moonlight leads the way, she can’t decide if that’s a God sent or not. They can see what’s in front of them as clear as day: The way little crystals of ice form on Beca’s ice-cold hair. The way A bruise wraps its deathly hand around Chloe’s neck. The wet blood that dripped around Emily’s lips. Who deserved justice more?

There was an eerie calm that had fallen over the camp. The campers had left- the counselors that were smart enough to follow were probably sitting in a warm diner right about now, or one of the darkened hotels that presented itself along the interstate. None of the name brand stuff that offered breakfast, the places where you would be lucky enough to find a room without a switch that made the beds vibrate.

She couldn’t hear any crickets, though. None of them could. That was a sign of danger and everyone knew it.

When she was younger, the house two blocks over caught on fire. Plumes of toxic smoke floated into the sky and the decaying scent of rotting wood being enflamed filled Aubrey’s lungs as she rode her bike around the corner and stopped just short of getting hit by an ambulance with roaring sirens.

She noticed a lot that day, a lot of noise that was impossible to drown out. But one thing that did hit her was the silence of the morning birds that sat on the powerlines and watched a family home destroyed in utter silence. Maybe it was out of respect, or maybe it was out of fear.

She hugged Emily closer at the memory and adjusted her fingers against her hip. Chloe held wordlessly onto the other side While Beca walked ahead of them all, her fingers on a trigger that she probably didn’t even know how to shoot. It made Aubrey feel uneasy.

Every time she blinked; she swore she felt it. Felt the wood under her fingertips as she pushed into the cabin that she had signed her final paperwork in. But it wasn’t just a cabin, it was Gail’s home. She braved the winters up here- felt safe up here. Until someone, Beca, maybe, stormed in and shot her between the eyes. A mercy killing. The blood dripped from her nose like cherry syrup.

“She couldn’t have been in two places at once.” Emily’s voice carried with the wind.

“Huh?”

“Beca… fuck, she uh, she was with Chloe and me. It’s not humanly possible for her to get across the camp in that amount of time. To blow up the shed… to strangle Chloe. She’s right, there are two of them and she’s not either.”

Aubrey frowned. She nearly failed statistics in her junior year. Not due to lack of trying, just because the logic of it all would throw her off from the equation. It was hard for her to admit that she was wrong, even harder when it was some snot-nosed counselor that pushed her buttons every single chance she got. She decided to focus on the old car in front of them instead. Its doors closed and something of a dummy leaning against the driver side window.

He almost looked fake and blue under the full moon. His eyes were closed, and that same dried brown liquid was spilled from his throat. Beca let out something like a grunt as she pressed her shirt sleeve against her lips with her free hand. Aubrey could smell it too. The blood and tobacco.

“Someone help me here,” Beca said, pulling open the door with conviction. Hesitation if not for survival. “He’s a heavy dude.”

Aubrey wordlessly leaned Emily against the hood of the car. Chloe instantly kneeling to adjust the strip of fabric that was keeping the young girl from fading out completely. It was soaked to the point of being pitch, like the sky.

“What was he like?” She nearly choked on the laden air as she grasped the other side of the fallen officer. His badge was luminescent in the moonlight. Beca edged herself around him, letting him crash to the ground in a heap of weight.

“He was a dick. A real pain in my ass who smoked enough to make up for a textile. But now I can see why he did it.” Beca placed her knee against the now empty drivers’ seat, the leather cold as she searched around in the scare visibility for something, anything, that resembled keys. “They’re not here.”

“What?” Aubrey asked.

“You heard me, they’re not here. I swear to god I left them in the center consul when I grabbed the gun but-“

“Don’t you know how to like… hop a car or something?” Emily asked from the front of the hood.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right. I went from tagging walls to Grand Theft Auto, Emily.”

Chloe shot a deathly glare from her perch next to the wounded camper and Beca slightly coward under it before she dragged her fingertips around the console once more. No keys with a fuzzy white rabbits’ foot on it. Nothing but ash that stained the grooves in her fingertips a dark grey.

“Do you need some light?”

Aubrey’s chest seized, her heart in the throat and a cold sweat instantly beading against her skin. that voice, a voice, that she recognized whole-heartedly but never expected to become privy to while they searched a dead man’s car for a set of keys that may or may not start an El Dorado whose gas tank was probably on empty.

Beca Mitchell apparently held the same affinity for the situation. Her hand quickly wrapped around the weapon with a dull click as she whipped around and pointed the weapon dead in the direction of the newcomer: Jesse Swanson.

Brown eyes were wide, and fingers twitched in the cold of the night. He wore a dark flannel over his yellow camp shirt. That stupid little green beaver glared at them, almost mocked them. “Whoa, Jesus Maverick, I thought you had never seen Top Gun.”

Beca glanced sparingly at the other girls as she adjusted her stance, shoving the weapon back into the hem of her pants. “You can’t sneak up on a someone like that dude. Not now. What are you even doing here? I thought you would have left by now?”

“And miss the genuine chance to be a part of something this big? Haven’t you ever seen Sleepaway Camp?” He said excitedly. Almost with pure glee. “there’s no way I’m passing up that chance… where’d you get a gun anyway?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ve got that light?”

Jesse nodded and rounded the other side of the car before he pulled the door open with a long creak. Aubrey stepped to the side, her arms crossed over her chest, part of her wanted to pull the warmth in. The other part thought that if she held tight enough maybe it would keep her bones from falling into a pile on the soft grassy floor like an old Steamboat Mickey cartoon.

He flipped open his chrome zippo and it gave an instant orange glow to the car. Beca could see now that it had more to offer than just ash. There was a half-smoked cigar and a few ketchup packets that had yet to be unopened. She never took Wilken’s as the one to get fast food, but she couldn’t’ blame him.

She glanced up, frowning as the hot glow shaded half of her face in ghostly shadows that screamed in the night. “I don’t see them.”

She hadn’t noticed it before. The night dark and her heart echoing in her ears like a steel drum. The brown scratches against the edge of his cheek. Cutting across clear skin that was beading with cool moisture. A bruise stretched around them like a marking- a brand. A dead give-away.

Beca mumbled a few profanities before she stumbled back from the car altogether. It was useless anyway. The keys were gone, probably shoved into someone’s pocket. It was nothing but a barrier. Aubrey nearly caught her, but Beca was quick, once again grasping for the gun- breath thick with the scent of blood that seeped into the soil like water. She didn’t pull it, not just yet.

“What happened to your face?” She asked, the girls watching from the hood.

He laughed, scoffed really. “What?”

“Your cheek. It’s scratched. What happened?”

Jesse glanced around; four blinking eyes boring into his. His fingers reached up to the welt, barely noticeable when the light from the zippo vanished in his movements. “I work in a kitchen, Beca. I nicked it is all, no big deal.”

Beca tightened her grip around the gun. She was fast. It was somewhat natural of her now, to pull it- to have the adrenaline rush through her veins. Fast was something she had always been: Fast with excuses and fast when it came to dodging the local law enforcement through city streets.

Jesse was faster. Her pulled Chloe flush against his body as she let out a sharp scream, as much as she could muster. He moved her arm against her chest, keeping her in one place with the tip of a hunting knife against the edge of her throat- once more in peril. The steel blinding against a browning bruise. Emily stumbled into Aubrey, pressing her fingers against her lips.

“It was you at the lake-“She said, voice tight. “You tried to drown me!”

“Yeah, I did. And maybe if I had you’d have a better chance at finding your keys.”

“Why?!” Beca yelled over his last words. Tears were threatening to boil over. They were dripping down Chloe’s muddied cheeks in clean lines. Her fingers dug into Jesse’s arm, struggling to keep it from pressing too hard. “Why are you doing this? Tell me or I’ll shoot!”

“You’re not that good of a shot, Mitchell, don’t fool yourself.” He hissed; words reaped with poison. “I’ll shove this blade into her carotid artery before you even have a chance. She’ll bleed out just like your mall cop did.”

Beca sniffed, pulling in as much oxygen she could as she pushed the base of her palms against her forehead out of frustration, the gun pointed to the sky for just a moment before it was aimed back at its target. Her eyes were red, the tears finally spilling over and dripping past her chin.

“Do it,” Chloe choked out. “Beca, it has… it has to stop. It’s okay, look at me.”

She struggled, swallowed in a gulp of cold forest air. Chloe’s eyes looked bluer than they ever had before. Maybe it was the dull moonlight or the darkness of Jesse shielding her from the rest of the world. But there was honesty there. It was warm. The only warmth she had felt all night.

Her voice was one with the camp, a demand. “Do it.”

Beca let out a scream of frustration, closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so damn excited about this. The whole entire thing is already planned out and oh my god. You guys don't even know the half of it.


End file.
